Eric Clapton, Robert Raymond, Rachel Carns, and Hannah Scott

If we'd sussed when we booked tickets for Clapton in Nottingham that he would be playing five days later in Hyde Park, it'd have saved a long drive. It was a good gig though, especially as Uncle John had arranged a prime-sited executive box - not very rock and roll, but nice to be able to stretch one's legs, sup cold beer or wine, and have well-found loos all to ourselves.

The openers, Robert Raymond and the Family Band, were electric, putting heart and soul into their set (K reckoned they stole the show). Their Voodoo Child (Slight Return) was magic.

Clapton, on his magic carpet, was worth going for, inevitably. And long overdue - I last saw him with Cream at Wembley in April 1967, along with the Troggs, the Move, the Kinks, the New Vaudeville Band and Geno Washington (some gig, eh? Well, it should have been, except I couldn't hear a thing for teenage girls screaming). But there was something minimal and lacklustre about him and his band. There was no spark, no sign of enjoyment, no interaction with the audience. Except perhaps Abe Laboriel Jnr who drummed his big cotton socks off. The single encore (for which the punters had to work too hard), 'Got My Mojo Working' was enriched by the return of a bouncing, leg-waving Robert Raymond on his pedal guitar.

We were intrigued by Eric's rhythm guitarist who, K pointed out, was playing his guitar upside down. It looked like a left-handed guitar, being played left-handed, but strung right-handed. A quick Google showed that this was Doyle Bramhall II, who has toured before with Clapton with his own band, Smokestack. There must be a story behind his strange technique.

By way of contrast, my ordered debut album from Hannah Scott, 'Till Angels Fall', arrived today. With a personal note of thanks and good wishes from Hannah, and a kiss. Bless! I love it when artists are that approachable and appreciative. I had a similar response from Rachel Carns of Twin (King Cobra), who is fêted enough not to bother.

If you haven't come across Hannah, visit her MySpace here, then order her CD; it's really good and she's destined for great things.

A Literary Streak

The thing is, K was staying with a friend last night, and Bob was down the hill watching a DVD and drinking ale with a neighbour, so it was only the SS and I.

So when, just as I was climbing into bed, I discovered I'd left my book on the stairs ('The History of Love' by Nicole Krauss. Have you read it? You really should; it's hauntingly good), it seemed pretty safe to sprint smartly down to get it. Naked.

Bob really must have come back very quietly. Why he chose that moment to emerge from the sitting-room is beyond me. The sight of his father retreating up the stairs trying to create the illusion of underwear with his bare hands seems to have been a bit of a shock. He was unusually quiet this morning, and seemed almost eager to get to school.

New Craigs

Once, just for a few weeks, illness stole her reason. The professionally caring authorities took her away to a white-walled place with doors that locked.

One day he rang as usual, and she asked who he was. It's Don. Your son. At the end of the long cord, in the corridor with the cheery pictures, she picked her words with the care of someone who may be quoted. "I have a son named Don," she said, "but you are not him." And at once he was cut loose, adrift in a world without identity.

Later, when she had returned, she asked how it had been. He told her of this and she replied, "Oh I said that, did I?" as if denial of a child was a regrettable but not unusual hazard, like incontinence or a persistent cough.

"Yes. And one time you..."

"I don't want to talk about it," she interrupted, and he saw he had overstepped a boundary between her impuissance and his. He sealed up the memories that he had hoped to set free, and felt a prescient desolation.

Dangermouse

Further to the woodpecker picture, we have a new visitor to the bird feeder. I'm afraid rats who try it get shot, but this field mouse is much too cute for that. He manages to shin up the post, but has evolved a daring freefall exit, which involves clutching his nuts and diving off the feeder like a stunt mouse into a convenient bushy herb underneath.

KEEP OUT

Andy Fairweather Low

To an Andy Fairweather Low gig in our local theatre on Saturday. Andy is not immediately recognisable as the wry-smiling, mod-idol lead singer of Amen Corner that many people remember (Bend Me Shape Me, Hello Susie, (If Paradise is) Half as Nice). I don't just mean that he is 40 years older; I mean he doesn't look quite like you would expect an older version of his younger self to look. And then he sings in that characteristic, melodious but slightly strangled high-register, and you know him instantly.

Andy is a self-effacing giant in the world of rock and roll, a musicians' musician. Still remembered mainly (and fondly) for Amen Corner's three brief years and for his 1970s solo hits like the hauntingly worded Wide Eyed and Legless and the funky Reggae Tune, he has played with a long list of greats, including Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, The Who, George Harrison, BB King, Bill Wyman, Van Morrison, Linda Ronstadt and Pink Floyd's Roger Waters. He has performed and recorded with Eric Clapton for over a decade, played a leading part in The Concert for George in 2002, and most recently released a superb, bluesy album, Sweet Soulful Music, in 2006 - his first solo album for 26 years.

As the gig progressed, it dawned just what a stunning guitarist, songwriter and singer he is. Supported by his band, The Low Riders - Drums, Paul Beavis (Thea Gilmore); Hammond Organ, Richard Dunn (Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, Gene Pitney, Neils Lofgren, Van Morrison); Bass, Dave Bronze (Procol Harum, Dr. Feelgood, Clapton, Concert for George) - this was a treat. On stage and at the signing session afterwards, Andy came across as a pleasant, modest bloke with a dry sense of humour and a genuine interest in his audience. A lot more dineable than the average rock star, I doubt he's ever smashed anything at the end of a performance. We have tickets for Clapton in a few weeks time, but I suspect the belting intimacy of Saturday's gig may prove to have been the bigger treat.

Andy Fairweather Low is touring Wales, England and Scotland until August. Tour dates here. If you have the chance to see him, you really won't regret it. A new album, The Very Best of Andy Fairweather Low - The Low Rider, is released on 23 June. We haven't stopped playing it.

Addendum: AFL's web site has some good tracks on. Find them here.

Tits, Peckers and Nuts

I watched two rabbits yesterday evening which were so engrossed in some curious ritual behaviour that they were oblivious to me a few feet away. They would lollop along for several paces, then turn and crouch, facing each other with their noses almost touching, and stay like that for ten seconds or so, before repeating the whole exercise. This didn't quite fit with usual rabbit mating behaviour, which involves a degree of breathless chasing and resting, before the male stops a few yards away and squirts a jet of wee over the object of his desires. Apparently the female's reaction to this varies; she either shows complete indifference or takes flight and scampers off.

This is not a pulling technique I ever tried. I'm fairly confident, though, that it would have triggered the 'flight and scamper' response, like most of my other chat-up attempts.

I didn't have my camera with me and anyway, depending on what the rabbits had in mind, snapping them might have seemed prurient. Instead, here is a picture, also taken last night, of our local woodpecker looking for nuts. The unattractive metal post is intended to deter rats (they still manage to climb up); the string to deter crows, which otherwise fly off with the entire feeder. Any suggestions as to what the tit is saying are welcome.