I saw off the decade with a samba band, some effervescent DJs, a few mates and a load of decent strangers. The mood was uproarious and a guy wearing an owl mask was sustaining the atmosphere, like Bez with a giant beak and plumage. It wasn't the time to be reflective and I'd say that most of the people in the venue were swaying and throwing their arms around for that exact reason. There will be plenty of time for analysis and forensics later.

I was at The Point in Dublin for the end of the Eighties. It was my second U2 gig in a row and Bono was popping the champagne cork and promising a deal of reinvention. The fella lived up to his word. Ten years later and I'd just come back from the Ulster Hospital with our third daughter. Everyone was worrying about the Millennium Bug and so they wanted us out of the ward in case all the systems died. We had two kids in nappies and my dad was mortally ill. The first part of that decade was a rush of confusion and major changes. I remember talking to an old friend from London in 2004 and telling her that I felt like a snake, ready to slough off an old skin. And I think that by the end of the decade, I had achieved that process.

Like most people, I'm not sure what the rules are these days. Twenty years ago, my trade was information and opinions about music. Ten years ago, it was about content, fast delivery and a deal of critique. I wouldn't presume to have a strategy any more. But looking back at my musings a year ago, I think there are some constants. Music is still something you ought to love and be immersed in. Perspective is so important when there's drama going off. And it's not cool to scrimp on the family and the health for too long.

Still, it's a privilege to be working with music in an edgy era, in a rocking city. Ideally, we can confer in 12 months and we'll agree that the adventure still has juice left in it.

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Yes I'm reading all the music polls about the year and the decade and I've already been introduced to some lovely tunes that have hitherto missed my radar detection. I'm also so pleased for And So I Watch You From Afar, who has powered through this year with their self-titled album and a mass of gigs and touring adventures.

They've also been awarded Irish album of the decade by AU magazine, well ahead of name records from the likes of Ash, Snow Patrol, even David Holmes and Damien Rice. That list has brought back so many memories, with flickering responses from The Thrills, JJ72, Desert Hearts and the soon-to-be-late Oppenheimer.

Oppenheimer play their farewell show this Saturday at the Spring & Airbrake, Belfast. Tonight there's a chance to see And So I Watch You From Afar at the Ulster Hall. How ambitious and inspiring is that?

My upcoming radio shows:

Dec 21. Tracks and albums of the year
Dec 28. Tracks and albums of the decades

Coming in January - 'This Is Radio Ash', fronted by Tim Wheeler. You gotta love it.

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They're smoking at the Harp Bar like it's 1978. Terri Hooley is inhaling plenty and also weeping a few tears. This, after all, is the first shoot for 'Good Vibrations: The Film', which will tell the story of Ulster punk rock though the delirious prism of Terri's life.

And so, in a great moment of homage, the makers of the film have recreated Belfast's most infamous punk den , downstairs in the Menagerie on University Street. The walls are that familiar shade of dead blue. The stage is as brutal as I remember, and there's even a band called Rudi on stage. I'm shaking with the powerful sense of recall.

Rudi ruled the Harp Bar. And when Terri first saw the band live, he had a defining vision that resulted in a home-grown record label and the ascension of so many amazing bands. In an inspired piece of casting, Brian Young from the Rudi is being played by Danny Todd from Cashier No 9. He's lashing out the anthem 'Big Time' and throwing shapes that are pure Brian.

Next moment a young Terri Hooley (Richard Dormer) walks onto the set, with the big coat, the crew net sweater and that belligerent strut. I'm sitting beside the actual Terri and it's all getting perfectly intense. The punk kids start jumping to the music and I notice that one of the Harp kids is Cara Cowan, whose dad and uncle played with those roaring bad boys, The Outcasts.

The barman throws me a conspiratorial wink. He looks like Tony, the scowling attendant from the Harp, but he's really Joe Lindsay, my BBC colleague, with a luxurious wig and a real moustache. Nearby, the film's directors Glenn Leyburn and Lisa Barros D'Sa are also enjoying the feedback of fun, art and social history.

"Does nobody understand that I'm a fake and a fraud?" Terri splutters. But we're not taking him at his word. This is no time to be literal, or even critical. It's our version of '24 Hour Party People' and it has to be an exceptionally tall tale.

You can't put your arms around a memory, but sometimes, you just have to try.

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