This week I rock out with my Bon Scott out, bemoan Bollywood bling, and enjoy celibate soccer

The “it” in question is a baseball diamond. But turn the “he” into a “they” and the advice applies equally well to statues of rock stars, if the experience of Kirriemuir is anything to go by.

After a two-year crowd-funded campaign which raised £45,000, the Angus town is now the proud owners of a bronze likeness of a long-haired man in unfeasibly tight jeans holding a microphone in his right hand and a set of bagpipes in his left. This is Bon Scott, singer with legendary rockers AC/DC until his death from alcohol poisoning in 1980, and a Kirriemuir boy. Sort of. He emigrated to Australia when he was six. But the point is that by erecting a statue, Kirriemuir has been able to claim him and capitalise on the band’s worldwide fame by drawing tourists to a town whose only other cultural achievements are the guy who wrote the play about the crocodile that swallows an alarm clock – and iced gingerbread. So let’s have more of this kind of entrepreneurial activity, please. And Dumbarton, Alford, Grangemouth and Pittenweem, you need to pay extra special attention. You’ve got, respectively, Talking Heads mainstay David Byrne, pop chanteuse Emeli Sande, Cocteau Twins singer Liz Fraser and Rolling Stones co-founder Ian Stewart to crow about.

As the voices in the cornfields round Kirriemuir say: If you erect a crowd-funded statue of questionable artistic quality which nevertheless bears a passing resemblance to a well-known musician associated with your town … they will come.

It’s enough to turn Ganesh into a socialist

If Brides magazine is to be believed – how could it not? – the average UK wedding spend is around £24,000. Having recently married for the cost of a couple of taxis to the registry office, a new black t-shirt from H&M and a boozy pub lunch for a dozen people afterwards, I’m at least £23,500 south of that. Or about half a Bon Scott statue in bronze, if you prefer. But even those couples who exceed the average – easily done if you get sucked into paying for his and her ice sculptures, or splash out on bridalplasty (don’t ask) – will look on in horror and wonder at the wedding which took place in India this week. It cost £59 million and was hosted by businessman Gali Janardhana Reddy, a man described variously as a mining baron, a billionaire and a industrialist-politician. In other words someone whose past is as colourful as his pockets are deep. And his pockets are very deep. The invitation alone beggars belief. From out of a blue box, lucky invitees got a gold plated LCD screen which, when they eventually found the on button, played a specially-commissioned Bollywood-style pop video featuring the bride (Reddy’s daughter, Brahmini) and the groom, one Rajiv Reddy (no relation).

If that isn’t making you retch, read on because here’s the rest of the wedding in numbers, most of them too sick-making to bear. Estimates vary but it’s thought between 30,000 and 50,000 guests were invited, with those coming in by helicopter to be catered for by the construction of 15 heli-pads. Temporary, of course, because who else is ever going to need 15 helipads?

The wedding itself took place in a recreation of the ancient city of Hampi, built on 36 acres of ground. It was patrolled by 3,000 bouncers, 300 police officers, sniffer dogs and a bomb squad, all hired for the occasion. There were elephants too, though they were more for decoration. In other words it was a film set, complete with the goons James Bond has to see off in order to get back whatever M has lost this time, and the unsavoury elements of the capitalist hegemony he has to play table craps with in order to do it (that’s a card game, by the way). “There are no vulgar elements on display here,” said set designer and art director Shashidhar Adapa, his nose growing longer with every word. “This is tastefully done, and of course at a scale to match the wedding.” But not, I think, at a scale to match the average annual income in India, currently under $1,500.

This will be the worst episode of Glee ever

London’s Donmar Warehouse isn’t a warehouse at all, it’s a theatre. Which is why when its artistic director Josie Rourke sits down to watch BBC Parliament she doesn’t see it the way the rest of the planet does – as the televisual equivalent of paint drying – but as music and drama and people breaking into song in the middle of everyday activities. Like, for example, giving oral evidence to the Public Administration and Constitutional Affairs Committee.

I wasn’t there, but I think I’m on safe ground when I say Alan Yentob and Kids Company founder Camila Batmanghelidjh didn’t do any of that when they appeared before this august body during its peek into the affairs of the children’s charity. But in a world where a warehouse is a theatre, a crypto-fascist reality TV star is President of the United States and a wedding can cost £59 million, they might have done. And that’s good enough for Josie Rourke, who has commissioned a musical with this snappy title: The Public Administration And Constitutional Affairs Committee Takes Oral Evidence On Whitehall’s Relationship With Kids Company. Not sure much rhymes with “company” except “grumpily”, but that’s not my problem.

Catalan Nights ... where balls games are banned

Question: is there an official advice manual for football managers or are they expected to do what every other manager in every other workplace does – just make stuff up on the spot? And if there is such a manual, does it say anything about talking about sex? And if it does, and it says “Just don’t!”, is there a codicil which adds: “Especially you, Pep Guardiola, Catalan-born ex-manager of Barcelona FC and now in charge at Manchester City”? I’m guessing the answers to those questions is no, no and no because when it comes to the old Yes! Yes! Yes!, Guardiola has been dispensing the sort of “advice” you shouldn’t have to hear from your boss. It was Manchester City player Samir Nasri who let the cat out of the bag. In an interview with a French newspaper, he spoke about Guardiola’s bizarre no-sex-after-midnight rule. According to the Catalan, as related by Nasri, it cuts down on tiredness and injuries and worked for Barcelona star Lionel Messi, whose lovemaking was clearly so strenuous that it was causing muscle problems. Or so Guardiola thought. And after the ban on late night ball games? No more injuries. Or so Guardiola thought. Next thing you know he’ll be telling his players not to stop for chips on the way home from training. Managers, eh? Who needs them?