Over the past few weeks it's been hard to swing a sunburned shoulder without hitting some sage advice on the subject of keeping cool in the 'heatwave'. Judging by the tone of rising hysteria if you're not at this very moment stuffing your fridge with pillows while running a tepid bath and eating a curry then hell mend you.
With the kind of music I make, I never imagined in a million years that I would look out from stage and see guys and girls wearing One Direction t-shirts singing along to what I'm playing, standing next to guys that are almost old enough to be their fathers and who look like they were the Ramones' number one fans.
For five years the forces of Social Media have waged an electronic campaign against our most understated quality: modesty. Favouring stealth over strength, the enemy concealed their weapons is the form of presents: MySpace, Bebo, Facebook, Twitter. The plan was beautiful in its simplicity, the opponents of humility had only to watch as we encouraged friends and relatives to unnecessarily broadcasting their thoughts, before we turned the gun on ourselves.
To a non smoker, the concept of smoking is often considered absurd. A regular smoker could and does spend up to £50 a week on a biting cigarette addiction, regularly strolling to the local shop to buy a box or tobacco packet decorated with a picture of a dying baby, a pussing red globular throat tumour, or a simple corpse.