Recently by Richard McComb

I stared into the gates of hell and this is what I saw:

Reporting duties took me to the National Exhibition Centre for the grand opening of the National Caravan, Boat and Outdoors show. My (almost) full take of the event is featured in the Birmingham Post tomorrow (Feb 20) but I held back this shocking image for fear of scaring the children.

This should be written as a comment to my previous entry ("And he's buying a stairway to heaven"). Cunningly, however, the system won't allow me to post a comment. So I'm doing it as a new entry.

I need to clear up the Telecaster conundrum and am having sleepless nights over Sid's comment.

My foray into guitar playing (see previous) inspired me to compile a Recession Rock Top Ten.

These are tunes to chime with our credit-crunched times. I'd love to know your suggestions. Puns please (i.e Broke on the Water) rather than literals (i.e. Money for Nothing). Incidentally, Dire Straits nominations/fans are banned. Here's my list:

It's been a long time, been a long time, been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time. But it's all over now.

As I shuffle inside, trying to look cool, inconspicuous, one of the boyz, I am struck by an overwhelming sense of wonder.

It's not so much a dog's breakfast as a sheikh's breakfast.

Because you'd need an eye seduced by the crass architecture of Dubai and those other desert places to see any merit in the building proposed by Salhia Investments for a plot of land near Selfridges, just off the Bull Ring.

I've been bad but now I'm back. Blogging, that is.

You won't want to know why I haven't been and the excuses are pathetic, along the lines of the dog ate my homework.

An intimate gathering at Birmingham's Glee Club was treated to a superlative set by the best singer/songwriter you've probably never heard of.

Toronto's Ron Sexsmith has clocked up nine albums of melody-packed, foot-tapping pop joy and barely registered a ripple on the UK charts.

His current European tour is ostensibly to promote his latest album, "Exit Strategy of the Soul." Put it on your Christmas list and pour yourself a glass of dandelion wine.

A few weeks ago I wrote a column in The Post casting doubt on claims that events in the city actually generate the money which they are purported to generate.

It was claimed, for example, that the Tory conference at the ICC would bring £20 million into the local economy. Still not noticed the boom in sales of Ferraris in the city? No, me neither.

I don't doubt that big events raise a company's/city's/person's media profile but I remain sceptical about the level of economic largesse.

Soul legend Stevie Wonder ended his European tour in Birmingham last night in infectiously good humour.

Wonder returned to the NIA, where he kicked off the tour last month, and turned in another remarkable two-and-half hour show.

As his band gathered around him front of stage before the final number, "As," the 58-year-old was cracking jokes and giggling like a "litte nappy headed boy."

I am sure David Cameron shone at chamber ensemble while studying at Eton but the Tory leader has betrayed an embarrassing lack of scholarly awareness when it comes to soul music.

Cameron's showpiece address to the party lap-dogs at Birmingham Symphony Hall struck a bum note when he referred to himself as being a "man with a plan."

I know Cameron is dogged with the notion that he is out of touch with the common man, by virtue of his minted background, but I find his lack of awareness about the great Stevie Wonder's lyrical output truly shocking.