First gig of the new year, with loads more lined up and a new book out. Always a good feeling.

Friday night at Festival Of The Beats at Ipswich Town Hall, three days of spoken word and music inspired by the '60s scene.

Putting me on there was a bit like getting the Clash to headline Woodstock in 1969 and it must be said that things didn't start off too well.

After some pleasant folky stuff, a young Romanian guy wearing a woolly hat and lurid plastic sunglasses took to the stage.

He had an excellent command of English and I was very much hoping to hear some insight into his experiences as a Romanian in the land of the UK Gin Dependence Party and the Daily Mail.

But he used his excellent command of English to talk a load of sub-Burroughs pseudo-beatnik twaddle which quite literally did not make sense, apart from one bit when he appeared to be exhorting us to inject heroin. And he performed for twice his allotted time.

Many of the audience walked out, swearing quietly under their breath.

God, that self-indulgent idiot Burroughs has a lot to answer for. How many lives have been wrecked by people following his cretinous example?

I'm so glad that my drug of choice has always been beer. It has ensured that, love it or loathe it, my work has always been devoid of hippy bollocks and when I talk about Cherry Blossom I mean one thing. Boot polish.

Anyway, we recovered the audience from the pub, I did my Clash at Woodstock bit and the venerable building positively rocked.

The festival continued with the legend that is Michael Horovitz and new generation poetry pin-up boy Luke Wright (pictured). Much respect to Allie and Paul for putting it on.

The rest of my weekend had a thoroughly football theme.

Saturday afternoon to my mother's birthplace to see Ebbsfleet play Weston-super-Mare in the Conference South - a lovely old ground - and a beautiful rainbow.

Then to the venerable and now reconstituted and fan-owned Enfield Town to do a benefit for their supporters trust in their clubhouse, a beautiful old art-deco cafe with wonderful acoustics, meaning that I could do the gig with no PA, which is always fun.

The ground is in Donkey Lane, perhaps an unfortunate address for a non-league football club, but no quadrupeds here though - just another sharp bunch of fans who have taken control.

It's the way forward and the more the merrier.

And then on Sunday I went to Vicarage Road to see my beloved Seagulls play like the aforementioned beasts of burden away at Watford.

Hooves, saddles, carrots, Blackpool beach, nativity scenes, the lot. Ee-aw! A truly dreadful display. And it was on television, so lots of other people saw how crap we were as well. Sort it out Oscar.

As I said earlier, loads more gigs coming up in England and Wales. None in Scotland though.

It's always made me very sad that I've managed hundreds of gigs in mainland Europe, four tours of Australia, three in New Zealand and six in Canada but I've barely ventured north of the border here.

If any Star readers would like to help organise a Scottish tour for me, please contact me at [email protected]. Cheers everyone.