I had a meeting early yesterday evening and in a moment of (insert random emotion here), I decided to take Rhiannon to see Taylor Swift at the O2 afterwards.

I've not been there before - having long ago sworn myself off arena shows following a stunningly poor Aerosmith/Lenny Kravitz day out back in something like 2000. For what originally began as something of a white elephant, the O2 is actually a pretty neat venue. It has its 'faults' that's for sure - the force-fed advertising is way over the top, it's totally sanitised and more like walking into a television than a venue, the food is totally out of this world price wise (£6.50 for a 'large' hot dog?) and they have a weird view on the terminology 'good seats'.

Having said that, for a show like this, they make things incredibly easy for you. The tube stops outside the doors of the venue, the video screens are a masterpiece of technology, the security is efficient but not like "we" know security at all and having experienced it, wouldn't actually be that bothered about waiting outside while the kids went in to see a show by themselves.

It was odd - and a world away from getting your ears melted off by White Zombie as a participant of a 500 strong crowd in a venue that should have only let in 200 at the most.

I like songwriters. Always have. I was brought up on songwriters like Elton John, Carly Simon, The Faces... so appreciation of what's actually good or not, is deep engrained and Taylor Swift can write a tune. I dare say there will be more than one or two of my rock pals who will think I've lost the plot, but she's good. Really good. When you've written a tune that 50 million people know all the words to, then you have the right to voice an opinion.

So, for what was actually a bonus birthday present for Rhiannon, it actually turned into a bit of a revelation for me. She can sing, play guitar properly - and even though it was delivered with machine like precision (not that far removed from a Kiss show when I thought about it), it was a damn good show. I'd go again - if pushed - but I'd give my right arm to see her in a smoky club with just a battered old acoustic. Then we'd be talking.

I even considered writing a full-on review of the show, but I might just have been tired when I got home.