THE SOUND OF MUSIC

Being a child of the 80's, and a teenager of the 90's, in other words, when music was last any good (and YES Mr Cowell, I am point the finger of blame squarely in your smug, inauthentic direction !!) I remember the days when carefully compiling an EMI C90 cassette of personally selected tunes for a friend or potential love interest was a key, almost holy bonding moment in almost any kind of relationship, romantic or platonic.

You'd meticulously assemble a collection of your favourite tunes then spend an hour painstakingly inking the titles and artist names on the inlay card, which never had enough room on it anyway, unless you scratched away in tiny capitals as though manually typesetting a newspaper press aimed at squinty-faced ants working in a dollhouse … on the moon. It took effort, craftsmanship and patience. It was a specially-tailored gift. It showed that you genuinely cared and that the other person really mattered a great deal to you.

Making a compilation for a friend was one thing. Assembling a tape for someone you wanted to go out with romantically was something else entirely; a real high-wire-with-a-bed-of-nails-surrounded-by-a-moat-filled-with-starving-alligators-replacing-the-safety-net act. Open with something earnestly romantic and you'd mark yourself out as a soppy, anti-sexual drip. Go the other way, spicing up the playlist with an explicit R&B tune in which the protagonist lists 5,826 assorted tricks he can perform with his tongue and you'd still fail ... only twice as quickly.

And if you somehow avoided soppy ballads entirely, and concentrated instead on showcasing how radical and eclectic your musical tastes were by segueing NewOrder and Led Zeppelin into a self-consciously difficult 19-minute electronic Kraftwerk epic which sounded like someone hitting a gigantic metal pig with a damp phonebook while a broken synthesizer slowly asks for directions to the kettle factory ... then you'd totally alienate them completely and forever.

Alternatively there was still the radio, but what if the all-important signature tune that signified the moment to go for it was suddenly replaced with a breaking news bulletin - specifically a live police press conference in which two cardigan-shod parents tearfully begged for the safe return of their daughter’s missing and very much beloved pet hamster Mr Snuffles ?? As mood-killers go, it would be on a par with looking across at your red-hot date to discover she had suddenly and impossibly sprouted the face of Alan Titchmarsh, and was looking back at you, licking his lips whilst grinning madly and reciting dirty limericks in a high-pitched voice.

But then, technological progress muffed it all up. First of all, CD’s smothered cassettes. Then 50% of 18-24-year-olds started running their own DJ night, which was just like compiling a tape minus the faffing around with the inlay card, except you had to take it even more seriously and pretend you were cool by designing your own sleeves with a bunch of felt-tip pens. And then finally, everyone got iPods, effectively granting control to Steve Jobs and his pals over their existing musical collection allowing a total and almost Rupert Murdoch-like dictatorial monopoly over their own ears. Compilation tapes were dead ... or WERE they ??

The other week I finally checked out Spotify. If you're not familiar with it, it's basically a cross between iTunes and a customisable online radio station. I'd heard various people raving about it and didn't entirely grasp why, until I realised that it meant that you could compile a playlist, then generate a URL for others to click on. It's like being able to mass-produce a compilation tape in minutes. OK, it's broken up with irritating adverts now and then, but hey, it's easy to use and seems to work quite well. What this means is I'm suddenly in a position to offer you, dear reader, a free compilation tape. But rather than any old tape, I've rustled up a special challenge: Summer's here, so consequently many of you will be embarking upon thrilling new romances. Others will be cementing existing ones. But don’t forget that passion can be fleeting.

So here’s the gig. Beckon over your beloved. Dim the lights. Get yourselves in the mood, press play, and prepare to test your ardour to its very limits. The first couple to successfully make out through my entire playlist wins a trophy or something. If that's too much, total respect will still be accorded to anyone who manages to kiss and cuddle for the entire duration of the "Monstrous Psychedelic Bubble Exploding In Your Mind Remix" of Oasis’s “Falling Down”, and then uploads the evidence to YouTube. It won't be easy. But if you manage to make it to the end, then congratulations: you've proved that your love will abide through the ages. Oh, and as a bonus, why not pick one of the entries for the first dance at your wedding.

That is, if you CAN actually bear watching all your guests drunkenly doing a heavy-metal version of the Macarena`, and then violently throwing up.

WHAT THE FOX ??

Let me make one thing perfectly clear here. Despite the efforts of Basil Brush, Tails from the 'Sonic the Hedgehog' games, Walt Disney and George Clooney, the fox is NOT, never has, and never will be a cuddly-wuddly, furry-wurry orange puppy dog with doe eyes and a waggly tail. What it actually is, is a rabid, disease-ridden wolf with the morals of a psychopath and the teeth of a great white shark.

I write this because a while ago now, whilst I was doing something unusual - watching a programme on Channel 5 - a whole bunch of people with furry facial fungus managed to single-handedly talk me out of a long-held belief that we should maintain the current ban on fox hunting with hounds. I can't remember what the programme was called but I do recall vaguely fancying Kirsty Young, the Scottish presenteress. Anyway, amongst a studio audience a guest speaker was talking about whether it's right to chase furry-wurry widdle foxes and their babies in the name of both sport and tradition.

The pro-hunting group actually talked very sensibly and quite thoughtfully about how the fox was at the top of the food chain and that left to it's own devices, it would take over the woods, which they argued would end up looking like Stalag Luftwaffe III if Charles Bronson had been left alone with the gardening tools. Farmers would have to end up spending all the money that Angela Merkel's EU quotas have left them with on huts that would require trained mice to act as sentries. Shooting may cause a cruel and painful wound. Poison could accidentally take out a baby hedgehog or someone's dog, and traps are best used for rats and mice. I found myself nodding in agreement but then … then … then it was the turn of the weird beards.

Surely, they'd come up with an equally constructive, well-written and a fair, unbiased counterpoint that would assertively present their side of the case, and would re-assert my views again ??

Err, no.

Instead, they barracked, shouted aimlessly and made loads of noise. They went on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on about how the evil hounds tear the innocent fox apart limb from and that the people who indulge in this sport may have voted for UKIP. In just a few minutes, they had made almost all of my bodily fluids come to the boil, my teeth had been ground to talcum powder and steam was pouring out of my ears and nostrils. I followed this up by ripping my settee to pieces and bit whole chunks out of my coffee table. My skin might even have begun to turn green.

If I see a fox now, I'm filled with an almost uncontrollable desire to run it down. Not kill it, you understand. Just give it a dig it for having the lousiest of human friends on Planet Earth. It's much the same deal with cars. Looking through a list of what is coming out this year, any right thinking motoring person would have to say that things have gotten, and are getting, rather good.

The BMW M5, for example, has a 400 horsepower 4.4-litre V8 which enables it to accelerate from 0-60mph in 5.2 seconds. The Jaguar XJR, has a twin supercharged V8, comes with enough oomph to snap a bra strap at 200 paces. It reaches 60mph from rest in 5.3 seconds. And then the Porsche 911, after a major facelift has a water cooled flat six that endows it with a top speed of 170 mph. As well as this, Ford is soon to launch a Cosworth version of the Focus, so expect to see one break the windows of your neighbour's house soon.

Now obviously, the little boy in all of us will be excited by the motor industry's relentless quest to headbutt the horizon but can I urge our careful side to emerge here. I live near some very traffic-heavy roads and I genuinely worry that someone will die one day, courtesy of someone speeding. Yet I have seen people going along at way over 40mph. I dread the day when my eventual children (that is if I ever solve the interminable problem of finding someone actually willing to conceive and give birth to them) start riding bikes because they're going to have to mix it with people in what could well be barely sub-sonic Volvos, Honda, Fords and Audis.

Now, I love speed, the thrill of cornering at speed and driving quickly, but if I had to try and argue the case for high-performance motoring on a TV debating programme, I would be truly and utterly stuck, I mean, we’re living in an era where people are so quick to profess offence I'm amazed this blog hasn't landed me in Google's equivalent of Guantanamo Bay. It’s weird to be living in a world in which people are encouraging the police to arrest Katie Hopkins for something she tweeted.

And that is a very, very slippery slope. indeed.

And now that Top Gear is going to be presented by someone with the same hair colour as Mr Fox, this only means one thing …

Fox crossings.

The Earth is doomed.

THINGS I'VE LEARNED FROM TV ...

* During all police investigations, it will be necessary to visit a lap dancing club at least once.

* When they are alone, all foreigners prefer to speak English to each other.

* If being chased through town, you can usually take cover in a parade - at any time of year ...

* All beds have special L-shaped cover sheets which reach up to the armpit level on a woman but only to the waist level on the man lying beside her.

* The Chief of Police will almost always suspend his star detective - or give him 48 hours to finish the job.

* All grocery bags contain at least one stick of French bread.

* It's easy for anyone to land a plane providing there is someone to talk you down.

* The ventilation system of any building is the perfect hiding place - no one will ever think of looking for you in there and you can travel to any other part of the building undetected.

* Police departments give their officers personality tests to make sure they are deliberately assigned to a partner who is their polar opposite.

* The Eiffel Tower can be seen from any window in Paris.

* If you need to reload your gun, you will always have more ammunition, even if you haven't been carrying any before now.

* You are very likely to survive any battle in any war unless you make the mistake of showing someone a picture of your sweetheart back home.

* Should you wish to pass yourself off as a German officer, it will not be necessary to speak the language - simply using a German accent will do.

* If your town is threatened by an imminent natural disaster or killer beast, the mayor's first concern will be the tourist trade or his forthcoming art exhibition.

* A man will show no pain while taking the most ferocious beating but will wince when a woman tries to clean his wounds.

* When paying for a taxi, don't look at your wallet as you take out a bill just grab one at random and hand it over. It will always be the exact fare.

* Kitchens don't have light switches. When entering a kitchen at night, you should open the fridge door and use that as a light instead.

* If staying in a haunted house, women should investigate any strange noises in their most revealing underwear.

* Mothers routinely cook eggs, bacon and waffles for their family every morning even though their husband and children never have time to eat it.

* Cars that crash will almost always burst into flames.

* All telephone numbers in America begin with the digits 555.

* A single match will be sufficient to light up a room the size of Wembley Stadium.

* Medieval peasants all had perfect teeth.

* Any person waking from a nightmare will sit bolt upright and pant sweatily.

* It is not necessary to hello or goodbye when beginning or ending phone conversations.

* Even when driving down a perfectly straight road, it is necessary to turn the wheel vigorously from left to right every few moments.

* It is always possible to park directly outside the building you are visiting.

* A detective can only solve a case once he has been suspended from duty.

* It does not matter if you are heavily outnumbered in a fight involving martial arts - your enemies will patiently attack you one by one by dancing around in a threatening manner until you have knocked out all their predecessors.

* When a person is knocked unconscious by a blow to the head, they will never suffer a concussion or brain damage.

* No-one ever involved in a car chase, hijacking, explosion, volcanic eruption or alien invasion will ever go into shock.

* Once applied, lipstick will never rub off - even while scuba diving.

* You can always find a chainsaw when you need one.

* Any lock can be picked by a credit card or a paper clip in seconds - unless it's the door to a burning building with a child trapped inside.