It revealed, though never satisfactorily explained, a world of mysteries to me - post-industrial man's inordinate devotion to amplified sound, the morbid disturbance of the nervous system it occasions, the idolatry it inspires and the belief it generates, even in the no-longer-young, that our essential liberties are somehow guaranteed by it. Just been to see Almost Famous, the film about an almost rock group Perfectly pleasant. Not deserving of the praise it's been receiving, but then what is? And at least not a schmaltz-fest like Billy Elliot. It revealed, though never satisfactorily explained, a world of mysteries to me - post-industrial man's inordinate devotion to amplified sound, the morbid disturbance of the nervous system it occasions, the idolatry it inspires and the belief it generates, even in the no-longer-young, that our essential liberties are somehow guaranteed by it. Heaven knows I had a lot of time for George Formby when I was growing up, but I never especially wanted to see him, let alone touch him, never cried over him, never wanted to disarrange his clothing, never owned a "When I'm Cleaning Windows" T-shirt and never entertained the sick delusion that the ukulele could free man from oppression or unlock the secrets of the human soul.It was just singing, for God's sake It was just a man thrumming catgut. But then Hitler was just ranting, and he got good turn-outs.The only time I experienced anything akin to mass hysteria as a boy was when I saw Ernest Hemingway walking down Market Street in Manchester - always assuming it was Ernest Hemingway - and even then I suppose you could argue that, as I was the only person who recognised him, the hysteria was more individual than mass.

I mention this simply so you won't think I am entirely impervious to celebrity, where celebrity is deserved The hair on the back of my neck also rises. To this day, if you want further proof, I recall the excitement of passing Anthony Crosland on FR Leavis's path, the place Bulstrode Gardens, Cambridge, the year 1964, a general election imminent, Crosland leaving after an unsuccessful brain-storming session with the critic, I arriving for a tutorial. Now that's what you call being at the centre of events! And not a guitar in sight.Leavis was in an excitable state himself. By his account he had just booted Crosland unceremoniously from his home.

Crosland would soon be Secretary of State for Education in a new Labour government. At this stage he was still tentatively formulating his plans to "shut down every fucking grammar school in the land". Not a smart ambition to air in the presence of the country's last committed élitist, who also happened to disapprove of swearing.I was always too awed by Leavis ever to try anything as bold as language with him, but I made some low guggling sound in the back of my throat, suggestive of agreement - all Leavisites did that - and I punched myself in the face, a brief fusillade of blows to each temple, another Leavisite method of implying accord on any matter ethical or literary. We were as one on the issue of comprehensivisation, we Leavisites of the Sixties We knew it was an educational evil based upon a social lie. And we knew that the only thing that would come of it was intellectual deprivation - a withholding of the goods of thought and learning, not from the gifted and the better-off, who would always find a way of shifting for themselves, but from precisely those disadvantaged souls for whom comprehensivisation was devised To those who knew nothing would nothing be taught.