The debonair Basil Marigold's

The word legend seems to be easily spoken of nowadays. It's a strange phenomena of our celebrity obsessed society that clamours for heroes. Their own mundane lives and imagination escapednonly by their belief that maybe they too can become famous trough the pursuit of the trivial and outlandish as the very people they now idolise followed the same route but got 'lucky'. It could have been me they say. This is appalling thinking and seems to be overwhelming at times. So, legend, hero, idol and all the other superlatives are bandied around like cheap confetti at a large wedding.  Tonight however, I do go to see, and listen to a legend: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. An Australian singer who has been making music for 40yrs. Firstly as in the band, the birthday party but for the majority as an artist with his backing band, the bad seeds. It is not everyone's type of music. Though, if you enjoy songs with an emotional narrative then the man is the one for you, really.

While pottering around a local shop in town on Saturday. I found myself in an aisle looking for, above all things, a glue stick. Behind me stood about 3 or 4 locals having a conversation. It went roughly like this between also the dramatis personae; Person 1 'So, he's been away then?' Person 2 'Yes' Person 3 'Didn't he go to Paris?' Person 2 'No. He didn't go to Paris. He's never been to Paris.' Person 3 'Oh, wasn't it somewhere exotic, though?' Person 1 'Was it America? I'd heard he'd been to somewhere in America' Person 2 'No. He went to Whitby.' At which point I think I sighed and left the aisle as swiftly as possible...