I've been negotiating something of a malaise of late. Might just be an Autumnal thing; you know, post-holiday, shortening days, the jarring realisation that you're closer to another year off your life. Also, another factor might be that I'm engaged in a crucial battle of wits with someone in a position of some power but I'm not at liberty to discuss it.

As it goes, a crucial indicator was the fact that I had a variety of options for Thursday night - the Midwich bash up at Ryan's, the Weli's new acoustic evening, 3rd Rok at Biddle's - and chose to do precisely none, instead staying in to watch the first instalment of Raymond Blanc's Restaurant show (rewarding, as it was, to witness two would-be retaurateurs, a mother and daughter couple, attempting to open a can of condensed milk with a carving knife and a rolling pin - now there's real talent!).

Anyway, the fact that I chose to stay in made me question whether I'd reached a point where I no longer went to gigs and that, effectively, that period of my life was at an end.

So it was good to resume DJing antics at What's Cookin' last night, in the company of those Jawbone boys, and somebody called the Monster Trucks, who allege themselves to be Southern Rock but in fact sound more like Toploader. No! I don't want you to think that I'm having a petty dig: they're all competent musicians who play well together. It's just that their name is a bit misleading. I was expecting baseball caps, big boots'n'beards, not Top Man trilbeys.

Delight of the night, though, had to be the opening boy/girl garage blues duo, Cowbell. They're from Stokey. Not particularly keen on the name, but the singer/guitarist had a great Guild semi and a powerful soulful voice to match. The lass on the drums - Wednesday - also had a very heavy right-foot which broke the bass pedal on the first song. I look forward to hearing more from this lot. But for now, here's a pic.....