Tommy gone? Oh no he isn't.

I was listening to Six Music a couple of days back when a bulletin announced that Tommy Scott, the singer from Space, had died. I was mildly upset - even trawled through the CDs to find my copy of Spiders (last played - Britpop) and gave a listen to Neighbourhood, Female Of The Species and You and Me Vs The World. Even reports of death won't make the album good, I'm afraid to say.

The following day, it was announced that this was in fact an erroneous report. The fact I, and the producers of 6Music, and these people all fell for it on March 31 is justified, I feel. You can't April Fool with death, and especially not in March. Nonetheless, I bet Space records were played more than they have been in years!

Listening: Dukes Of Stratosphear; Space

View from old soak's chair of Ted's Return Home filming 21/3

Old soak number two

As an extra in me own short film (very Hitchcock), I was somewhat typecast as old soak number two. Not the most illustrious of screen debs, if I make the final cut at all, playing old soak number two (I did try and investigate character's back story, but there wasn't much of one) involved wearing a flat cap, singing "Any Old Iron" and staring at this cut price pot of bitter which, nonetheless, appeared more tasty as the day went on. But wasn't.

Stairlift to heaven

Filming of Ted's Return Home this weekend was at the palatial St Vincents Roman Catholic Club in Hull. You could film allsorts there - out the back there was a small pond which instantly made me think of Chinatown's "very good for glass" coda. And, behind the bar was this stairlift leading to the private, upstairs quarters of Saint Vees. Part Exorcist, part Blues Brothers. Maybe we'll be back after Ted's Return Home is done.

Ted's Return Home

Baggy zimmers

Can anyone else believe it's 20 years since the Stone Roses' debut album? And I haven't even been imbibing peyote.

You have been Watch-ing

Like most blokes I've talked to, the three hours I spent watching Watchmen were some of the most bum nubing and perplexing I've ever spent in a cinema. Very rare to not engage with a film of this nature, but Billy Crudup's blue doctor with libido and commitment issues was certainly not up there with Hellboy. And Patrick Wilson's sex scene to Halleluliah was a wince and a mince by equal measure. And I still can't make sense of Nixon's prosthetic nose either - what was that saying, or was it just bad schnozz?