If I (god forbid), were to find myself in the position of having to write Gordon Brown's pre-election manifesto, I would propose an overhaul of the penal system.  I would argue that millions of pounds of tax payers' money could be saved if, instead of prison sentences, offenders should be made to take LSD and sit through an hour of the Hot Seats.

The most frustrating thing about the gig was that the band came close to five star brilliance then consistently let themselves down by the inexplicable insertion of excrutiating interpretive theatre into their set, which was ill-conceived and drawn out like a weighty turd.  Call me a party pooper or a raving traditionalist if you wish, but while any one of the band could play the shit out of Jack Nicholson on a banjo, they certainely won't be in the running for any comedy oscar nominations soon.   

Standing under Paddy's spotlights at the Festival Folk at the Oak, Alistair Hulett stood guitar in hand, with hair slightly silvering but reminiscent of a punk past, an ear-ring adorning his right ear and a 'Star Wars' styled 'The Worker's Strike Back' t-shirt, I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but I wasn't going to be disappointed. Intellectual, informative with historical and social contexts, engaging with the packed audience with an air of cheeky Glaswegian banter; you could refreshingly feel the emotion of the words in his voice, becoming one with the songs he was singing.