Played a show as The Legend! last Thursday. It was incredible. Danya and Ollie added a storm of noise and feedback and gentle Sixties shoegazing chords: we played three songs, 10 minutes each. Each one entirely improvised, although we discussed the entry - Ollie searing on a note of feedback, I singing ‘Baby I Love You’ deadpan, Danya joining in on harmonies. The second song was my favourite - people had warned me that I was coming across as too violent on stage, so I decided to do a ‘noise about love’ set, and sang the entire second song at my wife, lyrics improvised to suit. It was the enflamed three-part harmonies that really got me. For the third song - Danya’s, mainly - when I stepped up to the mic, D and O began making out while still playing guitar, ending up horizontal behind me.

The Pipettes were their customary coy sweetness: Electric Bull were exceedingly quiet. More like Acoustic Bull.

Three nights later at the Hanbury, Mudlow were about the scariest damn local band I’ve seen since the demise of Crawl Limbo: gritty, absolutely un-PC pub blues sung with a low rasp and roar, guitar as nasty and swampy as you want. Two saxophones - or was one a sousaphone? - thrust stage-front, showing exactly why the electric guitar is such a poor sax substitute (in the words of Lydia Lunch). Songs were lewd, deliciously so. Like Dr Feelgood given an injection of Detroit soul. Ow.

The X-Osettes rocked, too. Of course they did. As do any band that mix the sheer emotional power of early Saints to Sixties girl group covers - particularly (as ever) on the versions of ‘River Deep, Mountain High’ and ‘Chapel Of Love’, Paul belligerent and shouting between numbers, and rightly so.