Macca vs Larry

Had a near implosion of semi-orgasmic nirvana last night, when Paul McCartney played Anfield and finished in time to allow me to watch Larry David on Curb. It was like being caressed by angels then shagged by the devil. Marvellous.

Macca is of course deeply embarrassing with his 'let me hear you say yeah-eh' and perky demeanour (even during Yesterday), but as I've said before I can forgive this man anything because of what he's done, and what he represents.

I don't know why he holds this place in my life. It's perhaps that music is processed by the part of the brain which does not articulate, so that for some reason the music of the Beatles is likely to express some deeply felt emotion that typically I don't talk about. Or it could just be because that the Beatles are the greatest songwriters ever, by a country mile.

So Macca is the sugary, eternally upbeat perky Dad-at-the-disco cringemaker, who can be forgiven anything because of his place in society and unparalleled songwriting genius. Meanwhile Larry David continues to represent the darker side, an almost equal genius, who says the unsayable and does the undoable and who is, as his advert says, all of us.

There was a moment when I had to decide whether to turn off Macca early to watch Larry or tune over to establish the crucial early plot which you always need to do with Curb.

Macca won. But someone will lend me the DVDs.