The prospect of the new Paul McCartney album does not set my pulses racing, still less that of the Beatles museum on Savile Row that’s opening next year. If I walk into a shop and hear a Beatles track playing, I might walk straight out again, because I know the song too well and resent being held in its grip for three minutes. The Rolling Stones also have a record in the pipeline. I used to love the Stones and probably would again if I revisited them after being denied access to their music for 20 years, but for now, they’re a cultural incubus, like Harry Potter. As for new stuff by new people, I’ve lost the thread. The last time I was really enthused by a pop record was about ten years ago when I heard what turned out to be ‘An Awesome Wave’ by Alt-J playing in a north London pub.

In that same pub, I recently said to some friends – most of whom would have taken the NME every week in the late 1970s – ‘I’m trying to get into jazz.’

‘We all are,’ came the baleful reply.

‘It’s more dignified,’ I said, ‘more age appropriate. I don’t want to be one of those old guys who has “Stairway to Heaven” played at his funeral.’

The exchange which proved the absurdity of Australia’s gender laws

Soho’s Nimbys are the worst in Britain

Britain is facing huge demographic change

Everybody nodded in theoretical, but not very enthusiastic, agreement.

I had previously kept quiet about my jazz journey (notice I don’t say ‘Jazz Odyssey’ – the name of the project that signified Spinal Tap’s midlife crisis). It’s been slow progress. When I was 18, I borrowed The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady by Charles Mingus from the music section of York Library. (I think you had to submit for inspection the needle of your record player before you were given a ticket.) I found it propulsive and highly melodic, and it remains my favourite........

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