How To Make Red Traffic Lights Turn Green

File this one under The Universe Hates Me.

And no, this isn't a post about flashing temporary traffic lights to get them to change green because that's what ambulance drivers do in times of emergency. Does that ever work? This is a post about how even traffic lights are out to get me. And probably you too: you just don't realise it yet.

You know how it goes. You're on your way somewhere, probably in a hurry because you got way too distracted by something utterly pointless* or really quite life-changing on the internet before setting off. And every traffic light is either stuck on red or changes to crimson as you approach.

Well, here's how to get them to change to green. It's simple. And it virtually always works for me.

Start doing something else.

It can't be just anything, mind you. It can't be something you could also do while driving. (Sorry - picking your nose is out.) It has to be something you could only do (safely) while stationary.

Tying your shoelace.

Writing down an idea for a short story.

Checking a message on your phone.

Fetching that pork pie which rolled out of your shopping bag and underneath the passenger seat.

Reading an exciting poster about how to get free things in a shop window.

Getting a different CD out of the glove compartment.

Something that could easily fall into the category of "while I'm waiting here, unable to do anything else, and it's now safe to do so, why don't I...?"

Because the second you start doing something like that... often the very moment you even decide to do it in the first place... that's when the traffic lights will turn back to green. If you hadn't decided to do that thing, if you'd just sat there glaring at the red light, willing it to change, wishing your life was a Housemartins song, you'd still be sat there now. Because life's like that.

The universe hates us.

(*Only joking, Steve.)

Paul Heaton Spills The Acid

"I worked it out the other day," says Paul Heaton. "Since 1986, there have been 19 Mercury Music Prizes, 189* Q Awards, 350* Brit Awards..." etc. etc. (*I don't remember the exact numbers, but I wouldn't be surprised if the ones quoted by Heaton were accurate) "...and what have I won? Fuck all. I'd have more chance of winning a Mobo!"

The by now veteran singer-songwriter is half-joking with his audience in Manchester on Friday night, but only half. And he's got every right to be pissed off when everyone from Robbie Williams to Kula Shaker has walked away with armfuls of awards from the various music biz schmoozathons over the last 25 years, yet an artist who's been part of two Number One-selling groups, one half of the most successful British songwriting duo since Lennon & McCartney, and a critically acclaimed solo songwriter to boot... all he's got on his mantelpiece is dust. Oh wait, I just checked, The Beautiful South won Best Video in 1991. So that's all right then.

There are no Beautiful South songs in Heaton's solo set - the truth behind their split remains a mystery - but he has spiced it up from the last time I saw him solo with a welcome selection of Housemartins favourites, including a timeless Build, We're Not Deep, and a roof-raising Me & The Farmer. There's also a strong selection from his last solo album The Cross-Eyed Rambler - though nothing from its long-forgotten predecessor Fat Chance (by "Biscuit Boy") - and his typically acerbic new record Acid Country, which takes a while, but is a definite grower.

Never mind the lack of awards, Friday night was sold out and everyone at the Academy loved Paul Heaton. He knows it too, and is suitably appreciative, thanking us for our support over the years. Besides, a little bitterness becomes him - a more content man wouldn't ever write songs like this...

30 Songs - Day 9

Day 09 - A Song You Can Dance To

As has been made abundantly clear, I'm not the biggest fan of dance music. I primarily appreciate music in my head and my heart, rather than my feet. Of course, that's not to say I don't feel an itching in my toes at the sound of a well-curated indie disco, or even a soulful chunk of floorfilling Northern or wedding party Dexys. The last time I properly crashed the dancefloor though, it was to get down to This Charming Man and Born To Run, hardly your first thought when it comes to songs that put a beat in your feet.

"I'm a lover, not a dancer," as Jim Steinman put it - and I did almost choose his gloriously overblown Dance In My Pants for Day 9... but then I took a moment to think back to the school discos of my youth. Whenever I do that, two artists stick in my mind. The first is Whitney Houston, whose smiling, wailing, triumphant I Wanna Dance With Somebody almost made a pop-kid of me. The second, much less surprising, is the Housemartins. Yes, I well remember watching everyone slow dance to Caravan Of Love, but I was generally hugging the wall by the time that came on. You'd be far more likely to catch me on my toes to this, a happy hour or so earlier in the night...

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