Since I name-checked it in my second Everybody Be Cool Column over at Ninth Art I finally got around to watching Requiem for a Dream, which was a pummelling an experience as I was promised. I didn't cry, but it did provoke my stomach into a sympathetic hard cramp at all the drug, failings and fallings. The Director's about my age, isn't he? Pah. I try and explain this to Jane and she doesn't understand at all. Think like Bill Hicks being dead at 31 or me being now older than Cobain and Curtis ever were are what I tend to compare against and... well, it's clearly unfair and stupid. But fair and reasonable is too - well - fair and reasonable.

Today, among my fifty-quid FOP-rampage, I picked up a copy of the Cocteau twin's "Best Of...". Something nagging inside me is saying I bought a copy of it before and have simply put it away before listening to it properly.

Doesn't matter: I'm enjoying it a lot more this time.

Can I also take a break from my usual frenetic brand of self-publicity and pretentiousness to take a second to dwell upon the wonder that is John Mazzeo? You probably don't know him - but your life is poorer for that. A great man - yet a surprisingly nice one too.