DON'T LOOK BACK IN ANGER

The National Museum of Wales

Well I've got an ear infection.

It started last night: a kind of pounding in my head. Then everything went loud, and now my hearing is out of balance. Oh plus, the coughing has turned into me losing my voice. Thankfully I haven't had much cause to use it today.

In fact all I really did today was a bit of writing in Costa and then a slow wander around the National Museum of Wales. There were one or two surprising finds: some works by Degas, Monet and Sisley; a fascinating section on rocks and minerals, and a woolly mammoth. There were Welsh ceramics, galleries of modern art and photographs, and some sculptures of Greek heroes and Welsh miners. For a small museum, they have packed a lot in.

I was feeling ropey after that, so I made the decision to find food and then go to sleep. I chose Nando's for the first bit, and my hotel room for the second, which seemed (and still seems) like the sensible way round.

"Oh I've so had enough of this"
- Adam shortly before suggesting
a 'Cheeky Nando's' to Eve.

Nando's was full of... you guessed it... young people. The bass was thumping and the ambient chatter was as predictably loud as it always is. It seems to me that they've deliberately created that culture, in every Nando's, everywhere, to give it more vibe, more energy, more life. I ripped apart a dead chicken with a knife and fork for a while, and drank some watered-down coke. Then I stood up, scraping the stone floor with my wooden chair. I stumbled trying to put my coat on.

A roomful of young eyes looked at me.

This hotel room is baking. Trying to go to sleep is like wrestling with a hot blanket while your mind is fighting Lego villains. There's no-one here to ask about it - I haven't seen a soul here since I checked in.

Anyway, this afternoon, weary with cold and the sound of my own eardrum, I collapsed into the narrow bed, watched a bit of Columbo and then went to sleep. By the way, I don't have a TV and the Intrepids always skip through the adverts so I'm out-of-touch when it comes to who's selling what and to whom, but wow, when did Kevin Bacon sell his soul to the mobile phone people? What is he doing?

This baby's costing us a fortune.

I woke up in the dark. It seemed about the right time to go for a walk so I ambled out into the city centre. It's much quieter on a Sunday night, as I'm sure you can imagine, but I thought it telling that there were two burly bouncers whistling outside McDonald's.

I passed one pub where a young man was crooning Angels in a key that seemed a little high for him. Is Robbie Williams going through a resurgence? Who's responsible for that happening? Anyway, the Robbie-tribute-boy strummed along and the crowd swilled their pints and helped him out in the high bits.

I peered through the window when I got close enough. In massive 90-point font he'd printed on a sheet of A4 paper the words:

OASIS - DON'T LOOK BACK IN ANGER - C - CAPO ON 4.

That told a story, that enormous reminder. We've all been there though. I once started a Christmas carol in the wrong key altogether and the lead singer glared at me when he realised halfway through the first verse. You only do that kind of thing once. Well, it's either that or you print yourself massive reminders.

The rest of the streets were quite quiet tonight. There was a little drizzle in the air, flicking past the orange lampposts. The sky was a greenish colour above the stadium, then black and cloudy over the rest of the city. The wind rippled against my hood.

I go home tomorrow. I'm actually quite looking forward to that.