Britpop feud fifteen years on.

This morning I heard Blur's 'Beatlebum' on the radio, and experienced a slight frisson of guilt at turning the volume up. The old feud should certainly have died now, but I always was definitely on the side of Oasis. This was partly because they're from my home town, although they do have one or two misguided ideas; it's partly because I liked their early singles in particular; and it's partly because by the time they appeared on the scene I'd already decided I didn't like Blur that much anyway.

For a couple of years before they became successful, I'd been quite interested in Blur. By 'interested' I mean that while I didn't find myself humming any of their tunes while I was washing up, I imagined they potentially had something I might want to explore at some point. When they released their 'eagerly anticipated' third album Parklife in 1994, I counted myself among the eager anticpators. The debut single, 'Girls and Boys' struck me as wry and clever, but ultimately irritating; ditto the title track, which received a lot of radio play at the time. I was still undecided when they released the album's second single, 'To The End'.

Never has a song more deserved the description 'neglected classic'. It is rarely mentioned in accounts of the era, or lists of the band's great recordings, yet it is one of the most beautifully desolate records ever. Damon Albarn's vocal sounds vulnerable, rather than clever; his voice stretches itself to convey the right emotion. The band's tendency to smugness, meanwhile, is reined in by the beguiling tune.

They spoiled it all by releasing 'Parklife' as a single. I'd already had enough of Phil Daniels' irritating spoken word narration, and Albarn's fake cockernee banter when it was just an album track. Now I was bombarded whenever I turned on the radio. The rest of the world seemed to disagree, and my irritation increased exponentially every time I heard it blaring from a white van or a trendy clothes shop, or accompanying a quirky news item about a dog invading a football pitch or something equally ridiculous. Oasis arrived at around the same time, and I was ready to swear hatred for Blur and everything they stood for.

Actually some of the things that Blur stood for - education, literacy and progressive politics - were alright; similarly, so were some of their subsequent singles. Nevertheless, I have now taken the pledge, and enjoying their work will never be anything other than a guilty pleasure.

Nick Hornby, Melvyn Bragg and James Joyce

Over the last fifteen years or so, I have enjoyed an occasional relationship with The South Bank Show. I have caught it from time-to-time simply looking around for something to watch on a Sunday night. As show times vary I have sometimes come in at the beginning of something I've enjoyed very much; frustratingly I've also come in at the end of something I'd have made a point of seeing had I have known it was on - most galling was catching the final five minutes of a programme on Elvis Costello.

Recently, particularly as I've matured into my thirties, I've learned how to use a TV guide, and can now look for shows I think will be interesting. The show's broad coverage means that I frequently find myself skipping episodes, particularly when I want to see Match of The Day 2. As it seems that the present series will be the last, I've been determined to find something to watch before it goes for good.

Yesterday's travesty at Anfield meant I was happy to miss the football last night; fortuitously, this coincided with a show about Nick Hornby. I had been planning to watch the show anyway. I'm generally happy enough to watch documentaries about writers, whether I like their stuff or not - Jeffrey Archer being the one dishonourable exception. As it happens, I've read Hornby's first three novels and enjoyed them.

He's published two more since the last time I read him, the most recent was released last month. I haven't got round to reading either, but possibly will at some point. The show didn't inspire me to rush out and buy the books I haven't read, not least because of a comment Hornby made himself. He says that he occasionally meets people who tell him they've read High Fidelity ten or fifteen times; he longs, he says, to tell them to stop: "there are other things you could be reading". It's a fair point, and sums up my own feelings: Nick, if you're reading this, I've enjoyed what I've read so far, but the rest of your oeuvre will have to wait until I've finished Finnegans Wake.