Many of you will be blissfully unaware of this, but today is my birthday - I woke up this morning having reached the grand old age of thirty-one. For most people, this would likely be a cause for celebration - in fact, given the caring nature of Keane's fan-base, I'll be quite disappointed if there aren't parties being held across South America as I type, in honour of my big day (imagine it: there'll be posters of me adorning the walls, badges with I HEART MART on them and a birthday cake complete with a photo of me aged 5 and a CP70 on it). However, rather than spending my day full of the joys of being the birthday boy, I can't help but get hung-up on the fact that it just feels so damn OLD!

Even a couple of years back, the signs of impending old-age were ominous. After all, you know things have gotten bad when the number of candles required is practically too many to fit on the top of the birthday cake. The surface of the (admittedly delicious) chocolate cake was a blanket of fire and it nearly burnt my face off as I tried to blow them out. Such a safety hazard will be completely untenable going forward, so I suspect the next step will be to simply have one candle for every ten years of life: if ever there was an admission of becoming an old duffer, that's surely it. It doesn't seem so long ago that I was a young, fresh-faced geek starting at university - yet, it was actually rather scarily over 13 years ago. Similarly, myself and my drinking partner-in-crime Tony spend a large proportion of practically every visit to the pub reminiscing about classic tales of hilarity from school - but when the laughter subsides, it then dawns on us that the events in question actually took place more than half a lifetime ago. It is no wonder that we have both been accused of "clinging to the wreckage of our youth"...

Fortunately, some kind souls out there among you have attempted to ease the pain of the passing years by telling me that I look younger than I actually am. In fact, on two recent occasions there was great surprise expressed that I had already passed thirty - there is apparently a common-held belief that I am only approaching my mid-twenties, like my friends and Beyond The Iron Sea cohorts, Chris and Andrew. In a further kind-hearted attempt to massage my bruised self-esteem, I am also constantly being told that thirty-one isn't old and, being realistic about it, this is probably quite true. I'm still a significant number of years away from my OAP Bus Pass and winter fuel allowance, and I'm still younger than both Tim and Richard (though sadly still older than those young whippersnappers, Tom and Jesse), and few amongst us would say that they are old men. Though, judging by some of his lyrics and interviews, Tim shares some of my worries about getting old - we only have to look at a song like Atlantic or his tongue-in-cheek answers to Tom's What Do You Think Of? questions to see that we are kindred spirits with a shared fear of waking up one morning to find that we're 70, doddery and lacking in bladder control (OK, he's not actually mentioned the bladder control fear, but I'm reading between the lines).

But worry not, my friends: although the fear of ending up frail, withered and in need of incontinence pants is a lingering concern, on the plus side I have also discovered that with age comes wisdom. Well, maybe not wisdom in my case, but at least I'm a little more rounded and level than I used to be (though I have a long way to go before reaching the true Zen level of my fellow Scot and TMTTS, Colin Davies). My younger self would have felt the need to rail against anyone casting doubt on Keane's sincerity (take that, Alexis Petridis!), or would become embroiled in pointless arguments with people looking to stir up trouble on the message-board by trolling and flaming. But now (for the most part), I let it wash over me like water off a large, overweight ginger duck's back. A typical example of this is that I rarely ever allow myself to be fully dragged into the frequent debates that rear their ugly head every now and again, foretelling the death of Keane. Whereas a band like Coldplay have to rely on Chris Martin himself to make an annual proclamation about the band coming to an end, Keane can merely get on with the process of making music and playing gigs, leaving it up to their fans to provide their own scare stories to wile away the long winter nights. Off the top of my head, the following were just some of the events predicted to spell the end of Keane:

• The Under The Iron Sea era (the loss of the clean piano-driven sound)
• The Perfect Symmetry era (the loss of the distorted piano-driven sound)
• The use of guitars (the loss of the "band who don't use guitars" pigeonhole)
• Tom's smoking (the loss of the angelic falsetto vocals)
• Jesse Quin's involvement (the loss of the T-T-R dynamic)
• Jesse Quin's possible lack of future involvement (the loss of the new T-T-R-J dynamic)

Scary, huh? For a band that's apparently been on the verge of collapse with every release they put out and move they make (or don't make), they've managed to last quite well and seem to be happier than ever. But never fear, for I have now seen that the latest definitive indication of the band's imminent demise is concerning the sales figures (or lack, thereof) for the new album and its first single The Lovers Are Losing.

I have to say that I've never been one to care about the sales figures (even during the Hopes And Fears days when it seemed that literally everyone in the UK must have bought a copy or two, given how long it stayed in the charts) and to be honest, I still couldn't give two hoots. I've maintained all along that the most important thing should be that the band be true to themselves and follow their instincts when it comes to making music. Whilst it may be the case that the figures don't seem particularly great when stacked against Under The Iron Sea and (to a much greater extent) Hopes And Fears, I just can't see how this album can viewed as the band's swansong. After all, in the current climate of chart positioning, they seem to have done not too badly when stacked alongside some of their contemporaries - new releases from the likes of Kaiser Chiefs, Razorlight and Snow Patrol have also charted highly on release but dropped quickly compared to their previous releases. But I don't believe (and certainly hope) that Keane will be the type to think that they should throw in the towel because of one release that didn't scale huge sales heights, or that they'll go running back to the security blanket of rehashing a previous album next time round in an attempt to claw back sales.

Don't get me wrong - I'd love it if the album and single were to be shifting more units than Hopes And Fears and Under The Iron Sea combined, but ultimately it just isn't important to me. The fact that the band have delivered an album that I absolutely adore, combined with a much-improved live dynamic, is what matters. Of course, there is always a potentially serious side to poor sales, which is that in these fiscally-challenged times, record companies are feeling the pinch and may not want to invest in the band's touring or future recording to the same degree if sales haven't met expectations. Clearly, if that were to come to pass, it would be a bit of a blow to the band's creative aspirations - but again, it's all hypothesising and none of us can truly know what will happen on that front over the next year or two. My basic premise on the whole thing is let's just enjoy the music and gigs now, rather than worrying about what might or might not happen in the future - life is too short. And trust me, when you get to my age, you'll agree with me!

OK - now that I've put the world to rights (it's another perogative that you get once you're passed 30), I'll return to some minor birthday celebrations. I look forward to seeing what presents I'll be given this year - though if it's a pair of incontinence pants and a walking stick, I won't be amused! And to finish off this entry, thanks to Mary Ann for her kind words about my stab at A Bad Dream in the last entry - the Keane gig phone-call still hasn't come through yet (patience truly is a virtue), so I'll make it even sweeter for them with some live stylophone action:

I thank you!

The human mind is truly a remarkable thing. In every moment of our lives, it is constantly active and processing millions of stimulii: from the blink of an eye to the fact that I am able to type this text to you, from mastering language and the written word to enabling the creation of magnificent works of art and composing heartbreaking, beautiful and epic melodies. It is the most complex computer known to mankind, with the ability to master numerous types of problem solving and with a capability to learn and adapt that Alan Turing could only dream of in a machine. And yet, for all it's power of thought and creativity, it is also the most fragile organ in the body, with even a minute amount of damage resulting in profound, possibly life-changing effects for the sufferer. Medical science has made colossal leaps and bounds over the past century, but we are still a million miles away from truly understanding the complexity and function of the mind. But when you consider the many varied functions our brains provide, there is one area in particular that manages to fascinate, yet simultaneously perplex and bewilder. It is arguably the aspect that most differentiates us from the numerous other species we share this world with and is that one thing that truly defines us as human: our capability for imagination and to dream - a desire to constantly better ourselves and to push forward... not to be satisfied with the here-and-now, but to shape the future.

I realise that this reads more like the beginning of an article in a science journal and you're probably now thinking "What does this have to do with Keane?", but bear with me on this. One of the most interesting aspects of the whole area of the subconscious mind and the sleeping-dreaming state is trying to figure out what the purpose of our dreams actually is. Are they completely superfluous, being nothing more than the random expulsions of our stressed-out minds? Or are they in fact something much more fundamental to our well-being, helping us to manage and cope with the multitude of chaos and drama thrown at us in our normal, everyday lives? Clearly, the latter viewpoint becomes slightly less watertight when you consider the sheer ludicrousness that our dreams can take. After all, very few of us (as the well-rounded, intelligent, sophisticated adults that we are) can have ever faced the situation where we might suddenly find ourselves back at school, only to then notice that we aren't wearing any trousers (or is it only me that has had that recurring dream?). Maybe it does serve a purpose though: after all, I can now safely say that I have never once ventured beyond the front door of my flat without checking that I have all the essentials:

• Wallet: check.
• Keys: check.
• Mobile Phone: check.
• Trousers: check.

Perhaps the dream was my mind's way of preparing me for that eventuality and making sure I was never going to fall foul of a public indecency offence? We may never know for sure, but perhaps a third option concerns another great unknown about the workings of our minds: namely, that wonderfully vague and speculative "sixth sense", commonly referred to as extrasensory perception (or ESP, in these buzzword-conscious times). Although I don't believe that it's ever been proven, there is certainly some degree of mileage in the investigation of the relationship between dreams and "deja-vu" - could our dreams be giving us a glimpse into a potential future? In the case of the forgotten trousers, I certainly hope not... but there was a truly momentous dream that I had the other evening that, if ESP were to play a part, would make for a truly epic event in my otherwise dull existence.

This is where Keane come in (thank-you for sticking with me this far!). It had been a relatively ordinary day, followed by the usual quiet evening of television, music and web-surfing. In preparation for another day of hard work at the coalface of building performance analysis software development (that's the rock'n'roll lifestyle, my friends), I retired to bed for an early night and quickly slipped into a sound sleep. The scene rapidly shifts to me standing at the side of stage in Hall 4 of the SECC in Glasgow, with Tom, Tim, Richard and Big JQ on-stage finishing a storming rendition of Perfect Symmetry. In a blur of lights, introductions and noise, I bound on-stage to take my seat at the trusty CP70 while Tim switches over to to the CP60 piano beside JQ. The click-track begins in my in-ear monitors and I gently start the intro notes to A Bad Dream and we're off. Tim plays the middle-eight string parts from the CP60, before playing the chords (leaving Tom free to concentrate on singing) while I batter hell out of the CP70 for the big distorted piano finale. With the song completed, there's only time for a quick handshake from Tom and a backslap from Tim before I'm off, leaving the band to kick into a triumphant Somewhere Only We Know.

I woke up with my mind buzzing from the dream - it was extremely vivid and realistic and I'm pleased to report that at no point during the "performance" did I glance downwards and discover that I had forgotten to put any jeans on (of course, this worryingly could still mean that I had forgotten, but merely hadn't noticed). The dream gave me such a delirious high, in fact, that I can only deduce that this was my mind's way of preparing me for an event that is now clearly destined to happen. After all, the band will be Glasgow-bound in a little over two months from now, so it seems only right that my subconscious would want to give me an early warning and sufficient practice time. As I write, I still haven't had the official word from the band to say that they'd love for me to take to the stage with them on their sole Scottish date of the forthcoming UK arena tour, but I'm sure that offer will be made soon enough - only a matter of biding my time.

Of course, dreaming that I can play the song successfully and convincingly is one thing: doing it for real is an altogether different and more challenging task! So, I decided that it would be prudent to sit down at my old CP70, rig up a distortion effect for the solo sections and give it a good crack of the whip, in order to see just how close or far removed the dream Mart was from the reality. I'd be lying if I said it went totally smoothly (listen out for a Les Dawson-esque clanger during the middle-eight when I forget what chord I'm changing to, then laugh as I consistently mess up the effects changes) but on the whole, it wasn't as bad as I'd feared. Given that the gig isn't until the end of January, that gives me plenty of time to get my act together. You can now judge for yourself exactly how steep (or gradual!) this particular mountain will be to climb, because I helpfully recorded it for your delectation (if you can't get it to play, try installing the latest Flash Player - oh, and don't put the volume up too loud on the distorted sections, or you may risk hearing loss!):

Apart from the mistakes, you could almost believe it was Tim himself! Well, not really... but it could've been a lot worse, I hope you'll agree. Like I say, once I've got the official nod, I'll practice it religiously every evening until I can practically play it in my sleep - in which case, the dream really will have come full-circle! Hell, I'll even have a go at singing the backing vocals with Tim, Richard and JQ... bring it on! After all, I've sung (badly) on-stage before - admittedly, that was only to about 100 folk in a tiny venue in Edinburgh, so singing to nearly 10,000 people while trying to play piano with one of the country's best-loved bands will require me to up my game by just a tad. But I'm ready and raring to go - I can almost taste the aftershow beers and pizza now!

Right, with the scene now set for what can only be a resounding triumph of a gig, I'm off to get back to the CP70 for more practice. In the meantime... Tom, Tim, Richard, Jesse: you've got my number, I'll be waiting on your call - you know it makes sense! This time next year, we could all be millionaires... ;-)