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Arriving in Rio, farewell warnings echoing in my ears, I suspiciously refused the airport taxi drivers, certain to take me straight to the Favela (Brazilian slum), to jump on the fancy tourist bus to the fancy tourist area of Ipanema. Two sunny, glamorous days later I found myself heading for the Favela voluntarily, on the back of a motorcycle under the care of an ex-patriot who had found himself a home there.

There is a song on Strange Mercy, ‘Surgeon’ if we’re being particular, that when it starts never fails to incite memories of Stingray [the TV show rather than the fish, I’m not weird]. But ‘Surgeon’ is alone in its slight hints towards the early 60s sound of ‘Aqua Marine’ [if you were a fan you’d know it] and the rest of the songs on this album rarely, if ever, take me to thoughts of submarines and mermaids.

Which on reflection is probably a good thing.

I'll let you in to a little secret, nothing sordid honest, but when I'm not availing myself of the delights of Dundee [I'm told there are at least two, although if anyone can let me know where they are It would be greatly welcomed] I spend my time in and around, and please don't blame me, Leeds. So where did I spend my bank-holiday weekend? It's obvious really. Paris.

Hmm, what’s that I smell?...Ah it’s the faint whiff of desperation.  As hoards of fake (Yes, I am talking to you Mrs Bercow) celebrities gear up for the re-launch of Channel Five’s revamped Big Brother format, I’m left wondering if there’s still a place in our television schedules to accommodate what was once a national institution.

If you’re looking at Super 8 and thinking that it looks just like another summer blockbuster, very akin to ET, then you’re on the right track. And what a joy that is.  Super 8 is something you really don’t get anymore; a damn good blockbuster, that knows how to perfectly combine action and humour with a story of love and friendship.