It's Supergrass! Yes, I know it could be anyone really, but it is them. And very good they were too. If you like that sort of thing. They certainly went down better than the support act, Son of Dave, anyway. I actually saw him on 'Later with Jools Holland' a couple of months ago. There's not really anything wrong with him, but his act is essentially a mouth organ, a hat, and a bit of stamping, which doesn't always go down well with a rock concert crowd. Although I don't think he helped matters by getting annoyed and telling us all to stop talking.

Anyhoo, Lisa and I took the scenic coastal route to Folkestone yesterday afternoon, taking in Hastings, which has gone noticeably downhill since I left there at the age of one, as well as Hythe, Dymchurch, and the unlikely named Guestling Thorn (which welcomes careful drivers) (meaning I felt slightly uncomfortable). I also coasted through the picturesque town of Rye to the soundtrack of Lisa snorting in her sleep.

Having been stuck behind a lorry from the Kent Potato Company ("You've tried the rest, now FRY the best") for ten miles, we eventually completed the journey of 75 miles in two and a half hours, and arrived in Folkestone at 4pm. We're both on diets, so we headed straight to Pizza Hut (via the Barnardos charity shop), where I remained strong, and refused a dessert. Before leaving it for two minutes and ordering a Choc Fundoo. It was the phrase 'dinky doughnuts' that did it. There's just no way you can resist something like that.

Back at the Leas Cliff Hall, we joined the queue of (worryingly young) people, and having gained entry with our 'standing only' tickets, made straight for the seating section and sat down. We had an hour long wait before Son of Dave took to the stage, so you'd think he'd have been warmly welcomed, but apparently not. Although the bit where he climbed onto his stool for some more freestyle stamping went down quite well. Possibly because it immediately preceded the end of his set.

Anyhoo, Supergrass were pretty good. I kept my eye on the drummer, who, we'd been informed by one of Lisa's friends, is "very dodgy". I'm not quite sure what she meant by that, but he did seem to use giant cotton buds instead of drum sticks on a couple of songs, so that could be what she was getting at. Having made it out of the hall at 11pm, I elected to take the motorway route back to Brighton. It was 100 miles instead of 75. And only took 90 minutes. There were noticeably fewer potato lorries too. Scenic routes are all very well, but I feel so much more welcome on motorways.