As usual, I scrolled through out of mild curiosity to see if any deep house DJs might have scraped in no.147 (fat chance) but ultimately am not, in truth, overly concerned about who came where. The only conclusion I can draw from these lists is that I am over the hill, a has-been without a cause, an inconsequential fart with tastes shared only by a few balding, bespectacled geeks on the fringes of hoxton and berlin, an utter irrelevance amongst the army of hipsters and hucksters now calling the shots on the nation's cooler dancefloors. It's all over. The game's up. Time to retire to the pub or the back to '91 annual reunion circuit.