MAN ABOUT TOWN

Words cannot suffice to say how sublimely, life-affirmingly, head-explodingly good Arcade Fire were last night. If the sound mix had actually been perfect, as opposed to messy for the first six or seven songs, I do believe I may actually have either a) died or b) achieved orgasm via the sheer skill, enthusiasm, artistry and wonderfulness of the 10 talented people on stage. Thanks for the ticket, Ms Sam - I so owe you one!

For some time now I've been considering the idea for a non-fiction book, for which I never seem to have the time to pitch to an appropriate publisher: a travellers' guide to what I consider the real Melbourne. The original idea struck me while browsing through a bookshop in the London suburb of Bloomsbury in 2005. "Fuck," my brain said, in its traditionally crass and vernacular way, "why the hell do Melbourne guide books tell tourists to visit such pissweak 'attractions' as Captain Cook's Cottage when there are so many more interesting sites to be seen off the beaten track?" Should I ever get around to writing or editing such a book, I'd suggest to tourists that they take a full-moon tour of the Melbourne General Cemetery for example, or drink in the front bar of the Espy watching the sun set over Port Phillip Bay. Others might suggest a visit to the Red Hill Market, or lunch on Victoria St, Richmond, followed by an afternoon at the Immigr...