Oh, Mr Eno, you and your trains. Except this time I wished I could pretend I had a train to catch, but we were so near the front, and right in the middle, there was no way we could have got out without making a huge kerfuffle.

This Is An Illustrated Talk started off so promisingly. I was on an Eno high after his This Is Tales Of The Afterlives the night before. It has been widely commented among my circle that This Is The Best Festival Brighton Has Ever Hosted. The ever-present guest director was to be applauded. Hell, I even bought a poster on Saturday night. (Not the 77m Paintings - not enough wall space, boom boom.) But hero worship is never healthy, is it? And perhaps I was a little blinded.

Is it just me, or do you find it hard to concentrate after an hour and a half? Particularly when you're listening to the same person? Don't get me wrong, Eno is a brilliant raconteur, lively, stimulating, funny, energised... But even he admitted he lost the thread from time to time.

Again, no problem going off script, but you can't ad lib for a quarter of an hour without losing some of the core of your message.

The result was an all too abrupt end, to be followed by questions. I asked a question in an attempt to give him the chance to summarise and give us a satisfactory ending. It didn't work. Which was a shame, as I think he had a valid point to make: what is the point of art? And how can we sell its contribution to government so they will prioritise, although cutting the Trident budget to fund arts projects is probably a hope too far.

Very stimulating, as was the talk last week; but last week he chaired a panel with three other guests, this time he was alone, and it lacked structure. I had hoped to catch the fireworks at the marina afterwards, but the talk went on long past 9.30 and we heard the finale going off from the wrong side of the dome.

It meant the festival ended on a bit a splutter rather than a bang. Shame. Would still love to catch a train with the man sometime and chew the cud.

And I know this is an Argus blog and not the Culture section of the Sunday Times, but as Mr Eno was upset no one had reviewed his 77m Paintings, here goes: An estimated 30,000 visitors took in the audiovisual installation at Fabrica during the festival (Eno's figure, not sure how it was reached given that nobody was counting us in or out). Like a slow-changing, backlit, piece of stained glass, fittingly installed in the former church, it comprised several of Eno's works, cut up and fed into a computer, which then reproduced an almost infinite (77m, presumably) number of different permutations. The 'congregation' sat quietly in comfy sofas in the dark, mesmerised by the almost imperceptible changes in the image above the 'altar'. With a background layer of Eno's 'airport' music, all you needed was a tab of acid and you'd have been on the trip of your life. (Mr E says he's waiting for a drug to be made that only lasts 20 minutes. Why?)

It was an interesting experience, and clever - I think I saw seven 'paintings' in the quarter of an hour I was there (so how long would it take to view 'em all?) - but it wasn't what I'd call challenging. The skill to me lay in the idea of the installation, not its execution. So you wouldn't look at it as you would, say, a Da Vinci, or a Caravaggio, or a van Gogh, and remark how he had captured the smile, or the soul, or the light. Genius idea, though. As he told the (drunk?) bloke who got maudlin about his girlfriend at the end of the show, Good on yer, mate.