Diary

The Ecstasy and the embarrassment

Book launches are fast becoming a cross between a theatrical first night and an all-night rave. Especially one concerning Irvine Welsh (left), demi-monde cult hero author of Trainspotting.

The normally sober-minded Waterstones will be celebrating the launch of his next opus, a collection of three novellas, in outlandish style. Big name DJs and live body-painting will accompany a reading in front of hundreds of clubbers - on stage in Manchester's fashionable Hacienda nightclub.

An imaginative bit of PR by all parties, one might think. Only one slight snag. The book is entitled, with a certain audacity Ecstasy: Three Chemical Romances - and the Hacienda, tragically, was the place of one of the first ever teenage Ecstasy club deaths, back in 1989.

A spokeswoman for publishers Jonathan Cape was quick to plead ignorance. "The club was all Waterstones' idea. You'll have to ask them about it." Easier said than done. Waterstones proved remarkably reluctant to discuss the matter. I'm told, however, that the local manager has been heard wailing, "I do wish he hadn't called it Ecstasy!"

Reassurance is on hand from the publishers: "The book's not 'let's all go and take Ecstasy', you know. Mind you," comes an afterthought, "we do think the event will be terribly suitable for the Hacienda audience."

What could she possibly mean? Andy Jackson, at the Hacienda, has no idea. "Irvine Welsh is a highly respected author, and frankly it gets a bit sad if you can't launch a work of art without some stupid media brouhaha. If you can't deal with that, then don't come." Apart from the lack of expletives, spoken like a true Welsh character.

Maestro, where are you?

The emotion of a musical moment seems to have got to a guest conductor for Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra at a performance in Bristol recently. The Polish maestro Jerzy Maksymiuk, who bears a frightening physical resemblance to Beethoven, finished conducting the orchestra at the Colston Hall and made his exit. Unfortunately, he opened the wrong stage door and found himself in the broom cupboard. The audience, realising his mistake, struck up such an applause that he was forced to re-emerge to a standing ovation. He had just finished conducting Mozart's aria "Dove Sono?" - or, "Where am I?"

Ashdown's Animal

Those who expect party political broadcasts to be set to a piece of famously patriotic music, or alternatively do not notice the music at all, are in for a surprise. Alan Price (right), the Geordie singer and composer and former keyboard player with The Animals, has written the music for the Lib Dems' latest offering. A spokesman at the Lib Dem headquarters in Cowley Street sounded excited. "I haven't actually heard it myself but the people who have tell me it's extremely upbeat." It seems that he did it as a favour, the spokesperson added. "The important thing is we are not a party who parade celebrities but what we do have is a large number of very talented supporters who offer their services to the cause." Perhaps Mr Price will use a former Animals hit for Mr Ashdown's theme tune. "We Gotta Get Out Of This Place", perhaps, or better still "Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood".

Naked nerdism

Computer boffins at the University of California are finding artificial intelligence is less sophisticated than they had hoped. It seems that they have successfully developed an advanced program that, by detecting flesh tones and various give-away body shapes, sifts through Web sites searching out pornography. David Forsyth, assistant professor of computer science and the author of the software, said excitedly, "We've got it up to about 60 per cent accuracy." Unfortunately, however, the program's artistic appreciation is less refined. It denied access to Botticelli's Venus.

Life's rich tapestry

My "never mind the fitness, enjoy the conversation" source at that fitness centre for the famous, the Harbour Club, tells me of a quaint piece of dialogue between wife and husband on the exercise bikes. "Why are you reading about the 500 richest people in Britain, darling? We're not likely to know anyone in it." "But you are in it." "Oh, good Lord, I forgot. Daddy put the company in my name when I was little."

Eagle Eye

Operation Royalty-as-art

It's a lifesaving operation, but is it art? Apparently so. The stranger moments of Princess Diana and her spouse are to feature in a forthcoming exhibition at the South London Gallery. Opaquely entitled BLACK, and installed - no mystery there - in two separate rooms, this "complex personal and political statement" dedicated to Charles and Diana will feature "savage and disturbing sculpture" lambasting the Royal Family's most "trivial, banal outpourings". Not, I imagine, a show our beleaguered royals will relish. The gallery, however, is quite unfazed by the prospect of controversy. This is, after all, the same art house that exhibited Gilbert and George's "Naked Shit" show last year. "It would be fair to say it was controversial, oh yes," a spokesman chuckles cheerfully. "And republican too, yes. But," he adds, "there is some dark beauty in it." Not another skeleton in the cupboard, I trust.