2004-03-12 - 12:00 p.m.

There are seagulls that flap around our street like clumsy m�s when you leave the house in the morning. They�re kind of manky, shouty seagulls that seem to hang their heads in shame because they�ve probably never so much as even had a birdy sniff of the coast, but for a few relaxing minutes, you can pretend that you live in a quiet seaside village, and live a carefree life for a few moments until you hit the smog-ridden main roads.

A little thing, yes, but sometimes it makes all the difference. Especially on a morning when you should not only still be asleep, but your bedroom should itself be wrapped up in a house-sized duvet just to make sure that the world can�t get to you.

In amongst the rush of pints and karaoke and rock bars and haircuts and looking and singing there was a weird, unexpected private moment of clarity and eyes and beauty and knowing, and they don�t happen too often, especially in pubs in Soho filled with ageing rockers at 1.30am, but you take what you can get. No-one noticed.

The others will no doubt fill in the lurid details of a night that included one too many Bryan Adams songs for comfort.

It�s sad to me that it�s always the best people who never believe in themselves. Maybe it�s compensation for being so talented and bright and funny and everything. If they had self belief on top of all that, they might be a lot harder to be around. I don�t really mean that, of course. It would be tragic for them not to overcome their self-agnosticism, though.

As for me, I fell from being agnostic about self belief a long time ago and am now a confirmed atheist. Belief implies something there to believe in. I believe in the redemptive qualities of squawky seagulls and hearing things that make your heart skip a beat instead.

Everything counts in large amounts.

It�s a competitive world.