In yesterday’s column in The Independent, I mentioned the company Miglia, who make television solutions for the Macintosh computing platform. This morning at 8.30am, the doorbell rang; it was UPS, giving me a parcel, which contained a Miglia TV Max+. That’s the kind of £130-value reward that gets Miglia mentioned again, Miglia mentioned again, and Miglia mentioned again. I’m having trouble getting it to record programmes in a 16:9 viewing ratio, but seriously, if that’s the greatest problem I have to wrestle with then I probably deserve a really hard slap. Form a queue. Now, of course, I’m wondering what to mention in the next column; I could do with some new shelving, so maybe I’ll try and shoehorn IKEA in. This, of course, all reminds me of the time I randomly mentioned the drummer from Mousefolk on this blog, and he turned up posting a comment a few hours later. I have still never knowingly heard Mousefolk, or indeed Freebird by Lynyrd Skynyrd. But Mousefolk, look, they were on “Tea Time Records”, and released records called things like “Grannies Cake Crises”. There are many, many reasons why I hold the late 1980s very dear – revising for A Levels was particularly fantastic, I remember – but thank GOD for the death of twee bands. The Apple Moths. The Vinegar Blossoms. The Haywains. The Cups. (I made that last one up.) I thought that simpering boys and girls in cardigans carrying a small bag of 7″ singles had disappeared off the face of the earth, but hilariously I saw a few such specimens at the Spearmint gig at the Luminaire last Thursday (who are playing there again tonight, highly recommended.) Honestly, bands like St Christopher or Gentle Despite are just a preposterous as, uh, Sadistic Intent or, er, Nun Slaughter. I prefer music that sits in the middle of the road and provokes no reaction one way or the other. The Doobie Brothers, there you go.

The Radio Times website is experiencing severe difficulties, so my daily blog has been postponed yet again, which means I’m kicking my heels a bit while scraping around trying to earn bits of money. It would be great if I could be paid for kicking my heels. Heelkicker, £20 p/h, gsoh, gch, apply within. I’ve been watching lots of television, though. I’m becoming absolutely besotted with this man, Chris Ditchburn, who presents Live Roulette on Sky channel 847. I was really, really hoping that the Radio Times blog would start this week, as I’m bursting to write about him. So much so that I’m almost tempted to do it here, but I mustn’t, I must be strong, I must save my accurate, thigh-smacking observations for another fortnight. Or thereabouts. Gah.

Oh, and if you’ve ever been in a rubbish band, do please quickly fill in my questionnaire… (Pass it on.)