Last night I was home alone with the food.

The son had decided that enough was enough with whatever I could feed him and he would go with the chicken and noodles along with his younger sister.

That left me to my devices. At that point there was a temptation to go for the lowest denominator and pick up a tin of Heinz Baked Beans and a suitable pasty with plenty of brown sauce. I resisted.

Instead there was the one poisson left on the shelf in the supermarket. So I took that home along with some beer.

I smothered the poisson in crushed garlic, chilli and cumin seeds and put it in the oven for an hour and ate it with half a plate of mograbhi.

In the meantime I have been thinking on how to go about rehabilitating Come On Eileen.

It has been the staple of wedding hoedowns for the last twenty years or so and for that reason alone there is a sinking in the heart whenever the strings at the start strike up.

But it comes at the end of an album that is an emotional rollercoaster and put there, after having heard that has all gone before, it takes on a life of its own (which it has done anyway) and there is a surprising punch to it all.