Last night I took a seat in the tiny ICA Cinema 2 to watch a documentary film about the marvellous San Pedro combo The Minutemen, including copious quantities of live footage. Around me were 30 or so white middle-aged men, quietly waiting for the rare privilege of seeing one of the finest underground bands of the 80s from the comfort and security of a well-upholstered red chair. That's what gig-going should be like, and frankly if there are any bands worth seeing right now, I'd rather wait until the best bits of their set get edited together and projected onto a white screen in a warm, smokeless room, preferably without other people in it. But I would be prepared to share the space with a few other people, as long as they don't start flicking stuff half way through and tapping arhythmically along with the music.

Anyway, just before the film started, 3 more white middle-aged men came in, and one of them decided to address us all from the front of the auditorium room. “Did any of you go and see The Stooges the other night?” he said. Everyone mumbled and looked down at their white, middle-aged fingernails, concerned that he might be some kind of warm-up act. “I only ask because Mike Watt [Minutemen bass player] is playing with them, now.” More mumbling. “F*cking amazing, he is.” Senses no reaction behind our dead eyes, he rolled his, and sat down. A good film, it was, particularly for the footage of D Boon transferring his weight rapidly and repeatedly from one enormous leg to the other. A bargian at £6.50. Runs for a few more days.

The night before – what's that, Monday? yes, Monday – I walked through the streets of Camden Town behind Suggs, singer from Madness.

I wasn't stalking him, honest, but by co-incidence we did end up in the same bar on Inverness Street, watching a performance by my pal Keith. Keith bears something of a resemblance to Suggs, so when he noticed Suggs in the room, he grimaced slightly. “We've already had a moment, you know,” murmured Keith. A moment? “Yeah, a few years ago, where we looked at each other and both recognised that we looked quite similar. I already knew, of course. But he didn't.” It's a good job that Suggs wasn't performing on Monday night, otherwise the whole venue may have imploded in a catastrophic outburst of visual feedback. As it was, Keith performed a charming set, winning the hearts of two girls sitting at the front, before noticing the effect he was having and then repulsing them slightly by going over to them mid song and lying on top of them.

Quickly, 2 items that have been receiving advertising in the press or on the underground.

1. A compilation CD called Howzat, which is supposed to remind us all of a glorious summer of cricket over 2 CDs, with such bizarre selections as “Jump Around” by House of Pain, and “Sit Down” by James, songs that are both obviously inspired by heroic deeds on the hallowed turf of Lords Cricket Ground. I don't think I've ever seen such a sorry excuse for a compilation album, but look forward to “Whoops” celebrating Greg Rusedski's untimely exit in the 1st round of the French Open (featuring “Dancing With Tears In My Eyes” by Ultravox) and “Wow”, to commemorate Raikkonen's triumph in the Hungarian Grand Prix (featuring “Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others” by The Smiths.)

2. A book called “How To Talk To Your Cat”, which comes with a free packet of catmint and gives you the answers to such burning questions as “why your cat blinks” (why do any of us blink, I mean, honestly) and “how your cat knows when a disaster is about to take place” (the obvious question being, how do WE know that the cat knew that a disaster was about to take place?) You can get 3 copies for just £19.95 from 0871 224 0777 (ask for Department 3TC.) You'll never see your cat in the same way again, it says, alarmingly.

In other news, I'm not the most faultless person to roam the streets of Old London Town, but Great Titchfield Street, Momus really has it in for me this week. He's probably stunned that I even set foot inside the ICA.