And then I was 60.

It’s a thought. Using your bus pass for the first time.

A senior citizen (like the cigarettes my grandfather used to smoke).

The last quarter of my life. Probably less. (The parties might kick in.)

And I say to myself. How did I get here? How did I get here?

I look into that rear view mirror and I thank what God or Gods there may be (I’m hedging my bets here) for a life less ordinary, one blessed with good fortune and good health.

An adorable wife. (Now that really was a stroke of luck wasn’t it.) Children I boast of unreservedly. A career that’s been no short of colour and is still not fading to gray unlike my hair. Friends I love and a wider family I cherish.

Some random highlights so far.

Discovering Italy with Jeana, layer by layer. It’s a country of unbridled joy.

The Edinburgh Festival and Fringe. The gift that keeps on giving.

Three (soon to be four) Glastonburys.

Setting up 1576.

Two eagles. One with Tom only two months ago.

Keir.

The look of joy on my two girls’ faces as they both looked at me as competitive daughters to say “We got firsts in our first degree. It took you two.”

Ria’s graduation party in Dakota. Grandma on the Stogies.

Cath forcing me to finish off another Tullymore Dew.

Getting into D&AD.

Hibs winning the Scottish Cup.

Stirling Uni (The Grange).

The P7 Cup final. Beating SQ Primary with a Golden Goal.

Andrew Fairlies.

JCS, Les Mis and Ragtime at Inverleith with FCT.

Those big fat spicy olives.

The middle of Lidl.

Carol Coulter’s skintight rubber dress.

Our Chinese money plant and learning how to propagate it.

Me and Ralph’s red car.

Cycling and hillwalking.

The front row of the Lyceum.

Discovering Kazuo Ishiguro. (And one day being able to spell, even say his name effortlessly.)

WordPress.

Being treated with respect by my young colleagues at Whitespace.

Succession.

Fingers Piano Bar.

Ruth’s Bar.

That bottle of Poppers at my 21st.

Shitting in my white jeans in La Manga.

The Edinburgh College of Art Degree Show.

Napier Uni Degree Show.

More pandas in Edinburgh Zoo than Tory politicians.

Donald Trump losing the last election so ungraciously.

Sharpies.

Wrigley’s Extra Bubblemint chewing gum.

Jeana’s Sourdough.

New York. (The view from the roof of St John The Divine – only for the few.)

Street Art.

Thanks for reading this. Remember this song.

This Much I Know To Be True: Movie Review

Made by Uncommon Studios, and directed masterfully by Andrew Dominick, this takes the genes of Stop Making Sense and mates it with American Utopia to come up with something that is nothing like either, other than in terms of quality.

The documentary is a potpourri of off camera chat (not that much) and live music. It’s kicked off with a slightly dull and certainly unpromisingly slow ramble through Cave’s new ceramicist career, where he shares his depiction of the life of a devil, before we enter a seemingly derelict church where the magic happens. The church setting is incredibly apse. (That was a church pun).

Cave is the most spiritual (in a religious sense) atheist I’ve ever come across. Many of the songs he performs are studded with religious references, and of course death, as they are drawn principally from Ghosteen and Carnage (the former being the deathly album that was written before the tragic passing of his youngest son).

Cave announced only yesterday the death of his eldest son making the mood and lyrics of the first few songs desperately sad. And, to top it all, his only remaining son (Earl) makes a cameo appearance on Cave’s cellphone in a scene of fatherly love that defines Cave’s meaning of life (a husband, father and friend first, a writer and musician second).

The filming shows its workings throughout. Dollies chase each other round a circular track whilst a Steadycam swoops in and out of Cave’s group. Four strings three backing singers and a drummer (plus, of course, Warren Ellis) but most of all Cave, at his piano.

There’s an air of melancholia about all of this, which is hardly surprising, but the mood gradually lifts before closing out with another lament in Balcony Man.

Dominick is also credited with the lighting which is in many ways the star of the show. Atmospheric, piercing, rhythmically cued to the music. At one point a solo piano piece is matched note for note with the pulsing of a single orange spot. It’s mesmerising.

There’s a little humour, but not much, because what this really is, is a religious experience. A movie of great beauty and unlike any other gig film you will ever see.

Tremendous. And may someone’s God bless you Nick – the tragedy you and your beloved wife have had to endure is just not fair. At least you know millions love you.

The Wagatha Christie Case Parts 1 and 2 : Guardian Today In Focus Podcast

Today in Focus has long been one of my favourite podcasts for its in depth coverage of the news of the day. Usually it’s deadly serious and very informative without a strong political agenda.

The last two days however, in the face of the global negativity we are endlessly enduring, has been a lightweight, delightful revelation as it has explored the motivations behind the so called ‘Wagatha Christie’ case in which Coleen Rooney (Wagatha) has accused Rebecca Vardy (Grass) of selling her private Instagram stories to the Sun newspaper after creating an elaborate means by which to trap her.

Vardy claims Rooney’s accusation is libellous and has taken Rooney all the way to the top civil court in the UK at the cost, to each, of over £1m.

It’s actually a hilarious story about ego and greed with, in my view, Rooney the wronged one but Vardy the potential victor.

The Guardian use this as a deep dive in to WAG (Wives and Girlfriends of English footballers) culture, privacy and the UK’s antiquated libel laws.

So there’s something for everyone and, if on Friday you want more serious stuff, we’ll no doubt be back to a diet of Johnson and Putin.

Enjoy it while it lasts.