An icy shiver went down my spine the other day when I saw Tom Waits – that wonderful one-man advert for emphysema – on Top of the Pops Saturday. He’s put it off for thirty years, but it looks like Tom’s days in the fringe are numbered…

The industry is ripe for a new hipster role-model, one that FCUK can pillage his style for their summer catalogue. I for one am counting the days until I see the first spotty 14 year old dressed like he’s wondered off the stage of a 1920s vaudeville act.

I suppose it was inevitable – Tom is such a hip customer that he could slap Jack Kerouac for six. With about a thousand albums under his (skinny) belt, Tom hacked his way into beatific mythology.

But now, with a Brit nomination (he won’t win of course) to his name, Tom is finding himself at the gates of hell, or CD:UK as I call it.

TV presenter/muppet, Sarah Cawood (who, 2 years ago, was probably bopping away to Craig David, but now sports Topshop boho fashion and a neatly ripped Ramones t-shirt) was positively salivating at the coolness of Tom as she walked by the venue where he was doing a gig. I wonder how long it will be until Ferne Cotton is seen with a fag in her mouth and a bottle bourbon in her hand.

You may say I’m slightly bitter and up-my-own-arse with this. But Tom is one of the few areas of truly gratifying alternative pop culture that hasn’t as yet been hijacked by Capital FM, T4 or Burton Menswear.

I’m not saying I don’t want other people to experience him too, but I may break something if I hear McFly covering Swordfishtrombones. There will be a riot, by God, and the only teenagers involved will be McFly, preferably on the end of pikes.

But hey, Tom must have been tempted before and I have faith that he will tell Radio1 to shove it. So here’s to you Mr. Waits! Now get back at that piano and gives us another two albums released on the same day!