Busy day today. I'm about to take Daddy's Little Princesses to Hamley's to pick their Christmas presents. Yes, shopping in the West End on a Saturday in December. Hell.

But I should have more fun this evening, because me and the bird are going to see the Buzzcocks at the Forum.

These punk band comeback gigs are usually a good laugh. You're almost guaranteed to bump into somebody you haven't gobbed on since 1978. As for watching an audience of out of condition drunken fortysomethings trying to pogo ... it hilarious.

Just to celebrate, here's some footage of the band from 29 years ago. Gosh, that's before Kit was born.

UPDATE: The Buzzcocks were bleedin' great, actually. I've been to quite a few of the punk 'comeback' gigs over the last decade - Pistols in Finsbury Park, Stooges at the Apollo, Damned - and these were old men going through the motions for the pay cheque.

But the Buzzcocks actually put some effort into it. Of course they did the hits, but the new material sounded good too. And the accompanying backdrop projection of sleeve artwork and original photography really added to the effect.

In short, tonight was the first time for years that I yelled 'more!' after a set and actually wanted to hear more, rather than just being motivated by the feeling I hadn't had my money's worth.

Supporter act were Eater. That's right, Eater. Only the real saddos will remember them. I had successfully expunged them from my consciousness for three decades. Now they will be back for good. Arguably, they were better tonight then they were in 1976.

I knew I couldn't be the only person in the world working towards an insidious fusion of Fourth Internationalism and punk rock. And I was right.

Quite by chance, I have discovered that Uruguay's top punk band is an outfit called Trotsky Vengaran. The name means literally 'Trotsky Will Be Avenged.'

Judging by this video, they are no more Trotskyists than the Sex Pistols were anarchists. But all the same, this track - 'Historias Sin Terminar' ('Stories Without End') is a pretty damn catchy Ramones-influenced number. What's not to like?

Cool, aren't they? You want them, don't you? Well, Dave's Part has gotten together with the Sporting Outfitters of Intellectual Distinction to give away a complete set - worth £80 - to one lucky reader.

All you have to do is explain in the comments box why you deserve to bear such fine apparel on your chest. The DP/PF decision is final, and the closing date is next Friday.

Aaaah, but what if you don't win? What if somebody else thinks up some wittier words than you do? All is not lost. You can of course purchase this wonderful merchandise from the Philosophy Football website.

Part of the profits will go to Billy Bragg's Jail Guitars Doors project, an initiative to provide musical instruments to inmates in prisons across the UK. And how good a cause is that?

Bragg himself notes: 'Ex-prisoners who have actively participated in such [jam] sessions have a re-conviction rate of between 10% - 15%, compared to the national average of 61%.'

Right then, let's see what you can come up with.

MOTT the Hoople are playing two reunion gigs in London this October, with both shows long officially ‘sold out’. I know this fact courtesy of an email that arrived in my inbox this morning, inviting me to buy a ticket. You do the maths.

Don’t get me wrong. Once upon a time, I loved this band. More than anything else, it was vocalist Ian Hunter’s book ‘Diary of a Rock ‘n’ Roll Star’ that fuelled my adolescent dreams of endless US touring, en suite groupies, and scouring Memphis pawn shops for vintage Gibsons on sale for twenty lousy bucks. I ended up a minor league trade press journo instead, but that’s another story.

It’s just that Hunter celebrated his 70th birthday last month. Yes, as in the big seven-O, which otherwise put is threescore years and ten. Social care must surely beckon. How can a man of that age belt out the hits – which famously include ‘All the Young Dudes’ and ‘One of the Boys’ – and keep a straight face?

Thank goodness the Hammersmith Odeon – or Hammersmith Apollo, as I suppose we must learn to call it, even though Hammersmith is a long way from Harlem – has got wheelchair access.

It’ll probably come in handy for the band, as they leave the stage and head back to the dressing room for a richly deserved mug of cocoa rather than the long line of cocaine they would have been looking forward to back in the day.