I had an interesting evening at The Angel on St Giles Street. For many years this has been a marvellous place to meet up in the centre of town, mainly because people were so turned off by the drab interior, soulless atmosphere and sullen bar staff that they kept away in droves. You could be guaranteed a quiet drink at any time of the evening. However, more and more people have caught on to this, thus transforming it into a place very different to the one that attracted everyone there in the first place. My task now, of course, is to find the pub that everyone has deserted in order to go to The Angel instead.

I was due to meet at 6pm with assorted members of my new musical heroes Do Me Bad Things in order to probe them mercilessly with my tenacious interview technique (i.e. get out a crumpled piece of paper with some notes scrawled on it, put it away again, ask them if they wouldn't mind just having a nice chat instead) for a feature in The London Line. At 10.45pm five of us were still sat there, wreathed in cigarette smoke, having pontificated at length on subjects as varied as Turbonegro, Croydon, dressing up as a salmon, and the reason why “a pint of lager top” could be referred to as “a man in a box with a lid”. During the evening it became apparent that The Angel has become something of a music biz hangout; Zoe from Mute Records wandered in with her trademark cheery smile, every other person had a guitar strapped to their back, and at one point Chris who used to work at Setanta walked up to me and asked if I'd seen Mark Eitzel in there. I replied that I hadn't, and then realised that I didn't have a clue what Mark Eitzel looked like in any case.

Do Me Bad Things were marvellous company, and I will henceforth defend them against any attack, be it verbal or physical, as long as it's not too vicious a physical attack, cos I wear glasses and I'm a bit of a weed. It's not often you can sit with a group of people getting on for 10 years younger than you and discuss the merits of Steely Dan at great length. Rich revealed that a DJ had played DMBT's new single during the drivetime slot on a national radio station a few days ago, and, as it faded out, said “Ooh dear, it's all gone a bit Gaucho” – a reference that only about 0.00037% of his listeners would have appreciated. Tommy also advised me to check out The Profiles, which I plan to. Extensively. Jazz fusion, anyone?

I arrived home to be reminded of the delightful news that I had won a fridge freezer. I had first discovered this while in the pub, checking my email on my phone, and causing me to exclaim “Marvellous! I've won a fridge freezer!” My drinking companions, to their credit, humoured me, taking it in turns to exclaim “Marvellous! He's won a fridge freezer!”

This morning, depressed with the lack of press and radio covereage for the new Free French album, I set up a MiceBass page, featuring 4 tracks for meandering webclickers to download for nothing. My only Micebass friend appears to be the bloke who runs Micebass; he also has 17 million other friends. I won't bother trying to arrange a drink with him for the foreseeable future.