To the Electric Ballroom last night, to see Laibach. The gig had been moved across town from the Hackney Ocean, which went into administration a couple of weeks ago. This was a good thing for most of the audience, not just because they didn't have to mess about with overground trains to get there, but more because the majority of them were out-and-out goths and felt more comfortable in the traditional home of Full Tilt. There were some extraordinary specimens around the room; a woman dressed up in full military officer's regalia, a bloke who'd had his ears pierced and then stretched the hole so wide that you could pass a small child through it… Marvellous.

This venue hasn't changed for as long as I can remember. The concession on drink-selling still seems to be held by a bunch of miserable Romanians, although they have taken a step into the modern world by each member of the barstaff carrying a handheld electronic readout which they show to you rather than shout the price of your round above the deafening din of pulsing electronica. Phil bought a drink. He was shown the price. “Oooh, that's good,” he shouted over the bar. “Is that so you don't have to shout?” he asked. “What?” was the predictable reply.

There was a pinball machine there called “Whodunnit? – A Murder Mystery”. Not much capacity for sleuthing there, methinks. Sherlock Holmes would never have got anywhere with a pound coin, a plunger and two paddles.

Laibach came on. They are stunning, as detailed before. A bunch of politically astute, left-wing Slovenians, their “message” comes at you on so many levels it makes my head spin. One of their tricks is flirting with Nazi imagery, with videos featuring marching jackboots and “strength through joy” type gymnastics – which of course is complemented by their Wagnerian choir arrangements and the guttural German lyrics. Only a fool couldn't see what they're trying to do, but of course there were fools present, and there was more than one “Sieg Heil” salute during the evening – one of them, embarrassingly, being perpetrated by me after saying to Ant: “did you see what that bloke over there just did?”

The Electric Ballroom's feeble Xmas decorations (which I think have been up since 1987) distracted somewhat from Laibach's musings on the folly of war, as you can see. During a laboured instrumental interlude, Phil and I went to the merchandise stall. Laibach have expanded their range considerably. Condoms. A fez (£65). And, most gloriously, a jigsaw. Phil bought the jigsaw, prompting the unforgettable phrases of the evening: “Rhodri, could you just hold my jigsaw?”, and “Oi! Mind my jigsaw!”, and the unforgettable “Oi, mate, you've dropped your jigsaw.”

The highlight of the show is always “Tanz Mit Laibach”, which has one of the best videos EVER projected above the stage, while two girls in pigtails and Laibach-style uniforms emerge from the wings and march along, staring at the audience with grim determination. It's a stunning spectacle, thrilling, but also extremely funny. Phil was pissing himself. “Oh, I love gay Nazi disco,” he said.

On the way home Ant told me that he'd been in the studio with ' band called Father Of Boon last week. One of them had entered a competition in Sound On Sound to win a Behringer V-Amp, and completed the phrase “My favourite piece of Behringer gear is…” with something approximate to “the ULTRAPATCH PX1000, because it's the only one I can successfully fit up my arse.”

He won 3rd prize. The magazine called him to say that they actually wanted to give him 1st prize, but Behringer would have been too pissed off.