Perhaps I should write something expressing my sense of shock and surprise at the allegations that members of the RUC were letting the UVF slaughter their way across Belfast. I won’t. Partly because I can’t bring myself to believe that it might be true and mainly because both Splintered Sunrise, the best Irish political blog, and Socialist Democracy are likely to be doing something similar to which I’d have little to add other than a few profanities.

One of the more arduous aspects of editing Socialist Resistance is the requirement to stay abreast of developments in youth culture. I spent months befriending every heroin dealer in Whitechapel so that I could meet Pete Doherty. Sometimes it pays off. Late last year I saw the View, current holders of the number one album slot. Rightly so. It’s got two of the best pop songs of this century on it. Last night I was instructed to investigate whether or not Willie Nelson’s shift to cyber punk death metal trance has broadened his fanbase to include the sort of young hipsters we want to read SR.

If your life, and the lives of everyone you held dear depended on it, would you know where to get your hands on one hundred stetson hats like the one above? Well, not quite like the one above. The ones on sale outside the venue also had flashing green lights for people who wanted to draw attention to themselves. You have to marvel at an economic system that finds it rational to design, make, transport from China, distribute and sell things like this. I’m especially impressed by the entrepreneurs who must scan the gig list trying to work out what they can possibly sell. Has the human being yet been born who spontaneously feels the need to go out and buy these things? Yes. But on the evidence of last night not there are not very many people with my sartorial taste. Will we have them under socialism?

A quick word about the show. Support was from Sharon Shannon, an artist whose popularity baffles me. She needs to learn that the saxophone has no place in diddly dee music. She had guest slots from a couple of people including a Dublin singer called Damien Dempsey. He specialises in a genre which combines stodgy Australian pub rock, Celtic mysticism and political sloganeering that would make the stupidest SWP member you’d ever met feel embarrassed. At one point he reminded me of a friend of mine after his fifth pint droning on about colonialism and our Celtic heritage. This is a genre without much of a future.

Willie is what we should all aspire to be at the age of 74. He was arrested last year for possession of cannabis on his tour bus and he can still play a set nearly two hours long holding thousands of people engrossed. The other good part about the show is that Wembley Arena’s management has jumped on the ecosocialism bandwagon. They don’t waste energy on heating the venue, preferring to let the audience keep their coats on and to hell with the atmosphere.

We’d been joking on the way in that this might be a last chance to see Willie Nelson before he shuffles off to see Johnny Cash and Hank Williams. On the strength of his blinding show last night it looks like the drugs will keep him on the road for another fifty years.