Having been involved in the music scene/industry/whatever it is for quite a while now, occasionally I get asked to take part in a panel or workshop offering an insight into my experience of its workings. Usually I don't bother; I've never been big on advice - giving it, or receiving it. I've always thought that the only way to really figure out how to do something is by finding out for yourself, and the mistakes are sometimes an important part of that process. But these kind of statements don't make for an in-demand or particularly entertaining panellist.

So, in an attempt to broaden my increasingly cynical horizons, I found myself on the way to Newcastle to take part in the O2 Undiscovered day. It's a day-long event where hopeful bands and singer-songwriters ask questions and get to have "one to one" discussion with managers, agents, A&R men, and successful musicians full of motivation, or in this case, me.

I don't usually travel by train so it was a novelty to speed down Scotland's sunny southeast coast past picturesque towns and Torness power station, which looked like a minimalist piece of nuclear art, or a giant children's toy. On arrival I was greeted by the obligatory swarm of Geordie drunks on the platform, chanting some sort of drinkers' mantra before they boarded their train. It seems to me that a hefty percentage of the hen and stag parties you hear howling around the cities of Europe have Geordie accents, which can make you forget all the good things that have come out of the city - like Brian Johnson (lead singer with AC/DC, famous for bringing the flat cap and roll-up look into hard rock) and the patron saint of the macaroni pie, John Gregg, founder of Gregg's bakery.

I turned up far too early at the venue and spent the first hour sitting on an O2 beanbag reading the A-Z of Goth from the O2 portable music library, but my fellow delegates eventually arrived and it wasn't long before music biz anecdotes were being traded over cappuccinos and croissants. It was quite an odd dynamic with the panel sat in a line being asked questions by a group of ambitious young hopefuls sitting on O2 drum stools. They seemed like a nice bunch, but I was struck by how careerist everyone was. The age of myspace seems to have created a culture of impatience where you can form a band and be signed within six weeks - anything that requires more time is seen as a serious inconvenience.

Offbeat American songwriter Stephen Malkmus put it well recently in an interview when he said that "all a band can hope for nowadays is a full venue when they play and a couple of good reviews". I see the truth in this, but I also understand that it isn't what you want to hear when you're 16 and have just dyed your hair black and formed your first band. I tried to break the news gently to one lad who told me that his ambition was "world domination" by asking him why he thought this would make him feel better. The bemused look on his face made me feel like a grandfather that can't work the video player.

The "one on one" sessions consisted mainly of everyone queuing up to speak to the record-label guy, and me sitting reading the newspaper. Eventually one of the organisers asked if I'd like to go home early. I felt like a child faking illness, so they can get off school. But then I realised that it was goodwill on her part, and that there was really nothing for me to say to these upstarts aside from: "Good luck, and always remember to take the right power adaptor if you go on tour in America." After all, there's a good bit of simply being in the right place at the right time involved in any success story. This coming from the man who stood at the wrong platform and almost missed his train home.