I've wanted to talk about this photo for quite some time. It's up in the window of The Money Shop under the office I work in.

It states that they will offer £500 cash for "life's little emergencies". However, every time I see it I'm perplexed as to what "little emergency" the accompanying photo is supposed to demonstrate.

Has the man got the petrol pump stuck up his nose? Does he need the money to pay for it to be surgically removed? Judging from the fact his hand is depressing the pump trigger, it appears to have been intentionally inserted. Has he a petrol-snorting addiction problem that he needs £500 cash to pay for counselling to overcome? Honestly, this is the kind of photograph a rogue psychiatrist would show a patient in cognitive behaviour therapy to ensure they never got well.

So let's say the pump isn't stuck up his nose; that it's just forced perspective that makes it appear as such. Now we're looking at a man holding a petrol pump up to his face, fully depressing the trigger and looking desperately helpless at the fact that there's no petrol coming out. This gives us two possibilities:

1. The man wants to die by self-immolation but cannot as the pump is out of petrol, and so £500 emergency cash would help him out of whatever trouble has led him to such dire circumstances.

2. The man owns the petrol pump and is upset that there's no petrol in it. This suggests that he owns an independent petrol station that has run out of fuel and cannot operate. If this is the case, I don't see how up to £500 emergency cash would help him, as it certainly wouldn't get him enough petrol to get his petrol station running again.

What is going on here? Please?

The Bluetones have decided to part ways after their farewell tour this year.

 

Theirs was the first single I ever bought; "Fast Boy" (2003). Having worked my way through the 60s, 70s, skipping the 80s for the 90s, the first music of the 00s I felt worth going out and actually paying for was The Bluetones.

 

The chorus line of "If..." was stuck printed to the wall above my bed for the years I was at college.

 

 

Having had the incredible luck to get a pair of tickets for the first night of the farewell tour at Tunbridge Wells Forum and the stoic perseverance to stand right in front of the stage during the paltry support acts, last weekend I had the privilege of observing the band live from about 2 and a half feet.

 

 

The experience threw into sharp focus the inescapable truth that we'll likely never see a band with such charm, wit, charisma and humour. With quality songs. And no pretension. Or such a captivating front man.

 

In their absence, they will be more appreciated than ever before.

 

All of The Meek are genuinely shocked and upset by the sad and premature death of Amy Winehouse today. An unhappy creature, tortured by addiction, she will at last rest. She died, like so many of her profession, at the age of just 27. As much as none of us could ignore her path of self-destruction, we could never really imagine this day coming.

 

 

It is a harrowing experience, the realisation that you have stopped wondering when you will eventually be happy, but started wondering if you will eventually be happy.