So I watched the Brit awards last night. Funny, I thought 2002 was quite a good year for music, as there are so many decent bands around at the moment, but apparently I was mistaken. No, it appears that Will Young was the best new act to come out of this country last year (so to speak – sorry that is an appalling joke isn’t it?).

All in all, it was perhaps the dullest ceremony in recent memory. [I mean what, exactly, is the point of getting a celebrity – maybe even one you’ve flown half way around the world – to introduce the nominations if all they are going to do is wander up to the stage and literally say just the three words “The nominations are…”]

Apparently the major labels that run these things have no interest in promoting any of the genuinely exciting bands around at the moment; they’re only interested in trying to shift a few more copies of “A Rush Of Blood To The Head” and then trotting out a curiously goateed Tom Jones to try to flog a few copies of the recent album that absolutely no one has bought.

All that, and there wasn’t even a Jarvis Cocker-style incident to write about. Jees, even the Chumbawamba/John Prescott water-throwing non-incident would have done. Bring back Sam Fox and Mick Fleetwood, all is forgiven…