Thursday Jan 25th- day 20

I decide to go to an art gallery and a gig today. Before that, I work from home, and I happen to momentarily turn on the TV (ahem) and catch a bit of "The Biggest Loser", a show where two fat families have to compete to lose the most weight in I think it's two weeks. It's great! One family lives in an American diner from Peoria, Illinois, the other in an Italian restaurant in the Bronx, NYC. The first thing they make them do is wear gym-wear and be weighed in front of the cameras. It's not a pretty sight, if I am honest. My money is on the Diners to lose the most flab, as the Italian family are already bawling each other out. It seems pretty humiliating all round, but fair do's for trying to get healthy I suppose.

In another short break from work (ahem), I monitor the internet rumours about Robbie Fowler and his mooted (great word, that) surprise return to Liverpool FC. It couldn't happen could it? You gotta love Robbie, if only for being extremely thick and still managing to become one of the UK's richest men (courtesy of sll the houses he owns- the Man City fans used to sing "We all live in a Robbie Fowler house" to the tune of "Yellow Submarine". Then there's the drugs, the dockers, and most of all, the goals. I still remember seeing his debut and it being abundantly clear from his first touch that he was something special. So will he resign? Will he cut the mustard? We could do with a lift after losing to an undeserved late goal against the Man U scum last Sunday (sorry Mike and Timmy...) In other football-related news, Sheffield Centralians continue to lose without their stalwart centre-half turned makeshift striker (yours truly). Although to be fair, they tend to lose whether I am playing or whether I have been cruelly left out of the team. The ex-manager, who is still "looking for a way back into football management" (ever thought of Subbuteo, Mick?) thinks it's a crime against football that I am left out. He didn't exactly say it like that, but I know that's what he thinks! To be serious, Mick is one of the finest managers outside the Premiership, and he may even be an outside bet for the soon-to-be vacant England hotseat. Just remember, you heard it here first!

Evening, I go to the gallery at the University, the Henry Art Gallery. The best thing is a room with 150 works from the permanent collection. They are arranged on wooden plinths, a bit like music stands, with the details written on the back. It's a really novel way of showing the art, and some of it is really good. Also you get this weird feeling of wandering through time, as they are arranged in chronological order across the room. There's another cool thing, a James Turrell skyspace. It would sound naff if I described it ("Noooo", I hear you shout) so here's a link about it. I need to go back and have a look at it during the day (or at twilight for best effect). He's done one at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park I believe. Check it out if you get the chance.

After that, I go to a gig at a venue near the Uni. It's a jazz gig, but the previews sounded good. I saw it in "Seattle Weekly", a free listings newspaper over here. Two of the bands are so-so, but the first lot are absolutely blinding. "Industrial Revelation"- bad name but wow, these cats can play! I am not a connoisseur, so can't place them in the overall litany of jazz music. All I know is that all 4 of them are fantastic musicians (trumpet, double bass, piano and drums), and at times, the whole thing literally goes "Whoosh!" I am talking about those moments when they all seem to be doodling around, maybe doing the odd solo (cue audience applause and whooping), and then they kind of lock into something all together, and the music takes off. I don't know quite how it happens. I think it revolves not around the piano, who seems to be the leader, but the drummer. This hip brother is in total control. He's not flashy, he doesn't wave his arms around, but when he wants to, he just explodes and pulls out some mad syncopated rhthyms like he is, erm, peeling potatoes or something. b-BANG! He pounds those skins. There's not many things better than watching a great drummer.