It's Pink! I think it was the sign above her head that gave it away. Mind you, for the first ten minutes of the concert I thought she was called Pinb, after the bottom of the 'k' failed to unfurl properly as she arrived onstage. It took a roadie with a broom handle to sort it out.

Anyhoo, last night's concert was very good. Not quite as good as last time when she swung above the stage like Tarzan on a net curtain, and then rode in on a Fat Boy, but still, the support act was a major improvement this time around. Named The Coronas, they consisted of four 21-year-olds from Dublin, and knocked last year's Mudbone into a cocked top hat. I was very impressed. In fact I'd have bought their first album on the spot, but unfortunately it's not out until October. So if anyone wants to get me a Halloween present, that's one for the shortlist.

To be honest, we were lucky to see The Coronas at all, having arrived at our seats in the south balcony to find them occupied by a couple of foreigners in flashing bunny ears. Lisa and I have a long and fine tradition of encountering nutters at the Brighton Centre, and yesterday was no exception. Fortunately, having tried a combination of shouting and exaggerated hand gestures in the dark, we were eventually able to use the light from a mobile phone to explain to the pair of startled rabbits that their tickets were for the east balcony, and that perhaps they should hop it.

That only left the lesbian couple right in front of us, whose patented dance routine involved waving their arms about maniacally like Cliff Richard in the 'Mistletoe & Wine' video (if it was stuck on fast-forward). It took me a good half hour to realise that they were a lesbian couple, as one of them was a lot more butch than I am, and frankly I wouldn't want to take her on in a fight. But after the third song, when she turned around to ask if we could actually see Pink through their mass of flailing limbs, I successfully spotted her breasts. So I quickly adjusted my response and said "No, love."

As for Pink, well she was very good as always, although I did get the feeling that she was on a tighter budget than last year. Gone were the acrobatics, motorbikes, dancers and huge stage set, and in came... well, in came higher ticket prices for some reason. Money just doesn't go as far these days.

She did, however, announce that she'd been looking around Brighton yesterday and is tempted to move here. She said it reminded her of Atlantic City, which frankly I feel is a bit of an insult. As an episode of The Simpsons put it, "Atlantic City: Where New York comes to smoke". I wouldn't mind having Pink as a neighbour though. She could give me a lift to Asda.

In other news, I've received an anonymous e-mail about this blog post from a couple of weeks ago. The sender clearly doesn't have a shift key, but has managed to cobble this together:

"thanks for your ill informed commnets on the rice pavilion. fools and bairns shouldn't see things half done, as they say in aberdeen."

That's outrageous. I am not a bairn. Although I have been to Aberdeen. Well, I've eaten their Angus burgers.

Anyhoo, I assume he/she will be forwarding on the complaint to both Brighton Council and The Edible Construction Company, both of whom advertised the building site as "a public art intervention" and encouraged people (including fools and bairns) to come and watch it being done.

To be honest though, I'm not even sure the e-mail was meant for me. I'm actually very well-informed (and I have the photos to prove it), so I think my correspondent must be referring to Dave's remark about a Taj Mahal made of chips.