Thought: if anyone reading this ever has the urge to buy a Coldplay record, please don't. Buy a <a href="http://www.tbstars.co.uk/">Trembling Blue Stars</a> album instead. They do the whole doleful pop thing much better. They always did. Much better lyrics, much better songs. You won't regret it.

So, it's been launched. "Diary On An Antibody" by Fosca. A new album on CD. Out in the shops officially on Monday. Available directly from the Shinkansen label online <a href="http://www.shink.dircon.co.uk/mailorder.htm">here</a>.

And the album launch gig last night was a good evening, if truth be told.

Kings Cross Water Rats, one of my favourite venues, on a nice balmy evening, with many old friends and acquaintances in attendance. C33X and Vermont were both wonderful, and we played fairly well, I like to think. After warming up with "Storytelling Johnny" from the first album, we played all of the new album in order. Just like those recent gigs at the Royal Festival Hall where Mr Wilson played all of 'Pet Sounds', and Mr Bowie all of 'Low'.

Kate had a glittery ball-gown on for the occasion, and debuted her recorder solos. And I debuted my shock-horror fuzzbox to get the noisy guitar sound at the very end of "Letter To Saint Christopher". The only reason I hadn't used it in concert before was that it didn't fit in my bag. I managed to finally solve the problem this time. I brought a bigger bag.

Another first was myself wearing a buttonhole, a red knitted (or should that be crocheted?) affair, given to me at Ladyfest by a kind reader of these diaries. Thank you, thank you, o buttonhole-giver, if you're reading this.

We wrote a special programme for the evening, containing notes on all the songs of the new album. If you're interested, you can read the text <a href="http://www.fosca.com/foscaprogramme.htm">here</a>.

I promised Tim Chipping I'd plug his one-off club night / birthday party. It's called "Four To The Floor" and takes place on Sunday August 18th 7pm-midnight, at The Buffalo Bar, Highbury Corner, next to Highbury & Islington tube. £3 entry.

Basically, the club night consists of songs from only four artists: Kylie, Madonna, Prince and Morrissey. One-hour segments of each. No one else.

More details here:
http://www.tc015b8209.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/flyer1.jpg

Please come if you can.

Somewhere or other today, I read a description of Fosca as 'winsome'. The dictinary definition is "charming in a naive or childlike way", which would be fine, but currently, more often than not the word tends to be used pejoratively.

I recall that Alan Bennett takes particular umbrage when the term is applied to him. One story goes, that, when an interviewer used the word, Mr Bennett replied "Winsome? Lose some", and promptly got up and left.

This morning at 9am, tickets went on sale at the Royal Albert Hall for <a href="http://www.nme.com/news/102555.htm">Morrissey's latest London shows</a> there. I fancied paying my respects to the great man, and decided to go to the venue's box office in person, to check the seating plan and ensure I could get one of the ground-level seats at the side of the stage, where one can have a perfectly close view without braving the moshpit.

The question was, how early should one get there, in case there was a queue round the block? After some thought, I eventually decided on a mere 45 minutes before they opened. Partly because this is my limit for queuing time, and I loathe queuing, but mostly because I suspected that things are different from his 1988 gratis solo debut gig in Wolverhampton, where hordes of Mozphiles queued for hours on end, even overnight.

In 2002, London Morrissey fans, I suspected, tend to be a little more demure in their worship and eschew any sense of occasion when they can instead, for an extra fee, phone or book online with their credit cards, not minding too much where they sit. And £27.50 per ticket sees off any casual gig-goers. It certainly curtails my nightlife for a while. But it <i>is</i> Mr Morrissey.

I was right. There were only four other people there. A dozen more turned up at about ten-to-nine, but that was it. I got the ticket I wanted with no problem at all.

Amusingly, two journalists from Q Magazine were also in attendance, covering the whole tour. They were hoping for a nice photo of a big queue around the block. They were very disappointed at how much they'd misjudged things. But then, one of the journalists had a beard, so he is forgiven.

I suggested they cut out the queue from the Queen Mother's lying-in-state earlier this year, and stick it over this one.

Some of the four other people in the queue had their individual pictures taken and were interviewed, but they left me alone. Perhaps I don't look like a typical Morrissey fan. Bleached hair combed into a side-parting isn't that heavily associated with the Salford singer's iconography. But I may well feature in a photo of the whole queue, quietly reading my book.

This will probably be the only form of coverage Fosca get in Q Magazine. The singer being accidentally in a photo of a queue for tickets for somebody else's gig. And yet Fosca are the ones with a new album out in the shops on Monday, while Morrissey remains without a record deal after five years, and there's still no sign of a new release from him.

How very Fosca. And how very Morrissey.

On BBC London's book review programme last night, there was a segment featuring various literary editors recommending their "favourite books to take on the beach" (cliche alert, yawn). The literary editor for Elle Magazine turned out to be Eithne Farry. Last seen being the Shouty Punk Rock One out of Talulah Gosh.

She recommended that novel by Louise Wener, formerly in Sleeper.

Ms Farry added that by writing about being in a band from the perspective of a man, Ms Wener was being very clever and unusual. I don't remember anyone saying that about the Adrian Mole books.

She also praised the new novel for adults by Daniel Handler, who's in the Magnetic Fields.

Recently, Martin Rossiter out of Gene was on one of those many TV programmes about decorating.

Alan Bennett head-butted me on the nose the other day.

The night before leaving for Leeds, I decided to listen to the latest spoken word CD, "Hymn", by that city's favourite playwright son. Its cover features, like most of his CDs, a head-and-shoulders portrait of the author. It was on a pile of albums on a high shelf, and I couldn't be bothered to get a chair to reach. So I jumped up, basketball style, to grab it, but only succeeded in dislodging it enough for the CD to topple off the pile towards me. Being the world's worst sportsman, I failed to catch it with my open hands and instead inadvertently blocked its fall with the bridge of my nose.

So I spent Leeds and the rest of the week with a big red bruise on my nose. Sometimes a predilection for wearing heavy make-up has its practical uses too. I've been kicked by strangers at bus stops, but this is first time since school I've been hit full in the face. And by such a distinguished giant of modern literature, too.

It was the sort of thing that happens in some of Mr Bennett's less recent plays, the ones featuring jokey references to writers such as "Me, I'm Afraid Of Virginia Woolf". In "Forty Years On", one character delivers an extremely silly monologue about the Bloomsbury Set, and Virginia Woolf in particular : "I was distantly related to the Woolfs via an alsatian cousin".

Morrissey fans will recognise that the first song on his first solo album took its title, "Alsatian Cousin", from this same quote.

This Saturday teatime, there's a documentary TV series called "Art That Shook The World". Last week it was "Pet Sounds". This week it's Orlando.

Okay, it's about the Woolf book, not my former band who, indeed, did their amusing best to shake the world. Still essential viewing, though.

The Leeds festival was a lot of fun. For the last couple of songs, the venue's system couldn't handle our drums channel and blew a fuse, but by then we'd played most of our set, so it didn't really matter too much. People seemed to enjoy us, and we enjoyed them enjoying us.

We were memorably introduced thus:
"Possibly the greatest band ever named after a Tracy Chapman song…. Please welcome: FASTCAR!"

Of the other bands I saw on the day, I enjoyed The Boy Cartographer (Scottish, Pastels-ish, ponytailed bassist notwithstanding), Big Eyes (slow, sit-down instrumentals, beautifully played, perfect for a Sunday afternoon), and The Starlets (More Scots, very clean, very young, very Bluebells-ish). Had to go for a lie down when The Hotwires came on (very Blues Explosion garage rock, ie very fashionable right now), and was sorry that I couldn't stay for Tender Trap and the other groups due to catching the last train back to London. Next time I'll search out for a floor to stay on: I do love festivals. As long as I'm performing at them. Otherwise, I just get envious.

Much of the DJ-ing in the bar area was sublime, too. Orange Juice's "Breakfast Time" (Postcard version) next to Alexander O'Neil's "Criticize". Pure class.

My responses to a recent Chickfactor poll about behaviour at gigs:

<i>Couples who make out: stop. if it gets you in the mood, save it or stay home and listen to the record. sorry, that¹s not in the form of a question. comments?</i>

I tend to get couples BREAKING UP at my gigs. So I'm doing something right.

<i>in what circumstances do you feel it¹s okay to ask to be on a friend¹s band¹s guest list? why/why not?</i>

If it's a small gig, the band have day jobs and the door price is cheaper than buying a couple of drinks, I think it's fair enough to pay one's way in. If the show is a big venue and the band are drinking nectar from the navels of Brewer Street rent boys between songs, I only go if I can get in free. Basic Robin Hood tactics, really. If the show is sold out and the only way of getting in is by being on the list, then that's fair enough too.

<i> tall people: are you at all self-conscious when you stand in front of people half of your size? does it occur to you to ask if you are interfering with someone's view, especially if you shift mid-show? do you move if someone politely asks you to?</i>

I nearly always manage to have some twit in a ponytail standing in front of me at most gigs. It's even happened at Pulp shows. I try to move, but they usually follow me about.

<i> do you ever notice people cutting in line and acting like they¹re sidling up to their friends? ok or not ok?</i>

Entirely fair enough. If someone has reached the point where they have to pretend they have friends, who am I to deny them?

<i> when, if ever, is floor sitting acceptable at shows? why/why not?</i>

Only if such people reserve the right not to mind when I trip over them.

<i> are there different rules of etiquette for chichi sit-down concerts than for beer halls? why/why not?</i>

Moshing is less common at seated gigs. Still, I saw some kids moshing down the front at the Magnetic Fields' set at the Royal Festival Hall. Despite the lack of drums of any kind, they danced away.

<i>for musicians: under what circumstances are requests acceptable? why/why not?</i>

Only if they can see the set list better than me.

<i> is it rude to refer to artists you don't know by their first names? why/why not?</i>

I prefer to refer to everyone as Mr or Ms. I hate that showbiz fake camaraderie. I have no fake friends. I have hardly any real friends, either, so perhaps I should revise my attitude.

<i>are you self-conscious about stage banter? aware that people came to hear music, not jokes? </i>

I try to start up conversations with my bandmates on stage. It's the only time I ever speak to them and I forget what conversation sounds like otherwise.

<i> when (if ever) is appropriate to sleep with one¹s band members? crew? roadies? other people's band members?</i>

Only if you are in Fleetwood Mac.

<i> have your fellow band members ever given you a hard time about what you wear onstage? </i>

I ban the wearing of trainers in my band. This makes us the most experimental band in Christendom.

<i> what do you think of people asking to be on the guest list? just part of the game or do you find it inappropriate?</i>

I don't mind, as long as they return the favour. They rarely do, though. I'm not important enough to their careers. So I have to gatecrash their aftershows using my fabulous technique and embarrass them for the self-seeking showbiz whores they really are.

After subscribing to the increasingly tired-sounding <a href="http://www.popbitch.com">Popbitch</a> for so long, I've now found a new and slightly more satisfying email newsletter of rock and pop anecdotes: <a href="http://www.rockingvicar.com">Rockingvicar.com</a>

Much of the veracity is dubious, but it makes for an entertaining read.

Sample anecdote:
"Simon Bates was reliably inane in his presentation of the 'Golden Hour', but perhaps never more gloriously fatuous than when he spoke as follows: "It was the year we lost Sir Ralph Richardson and gained THIS from Kajagoogoo."