mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

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dorky dancing

I just broke of of the most important rules one should abide by: never dance like you're alone in your room where people can see you. Ooops.

Okay, so I went to All Tommorrow's parties on Cockatoo Island, am horribly burnt and worse tired, but it was okay. Some parts were quite fun. I really just went to see The Saints and this time I was determined to be right up the front but it was all pushy and shovey and no fun so I decided 'stuff it' and went off to the strip of grass twixt crowd and sea, figuring I could at least just listen to the music and watch the water but I discovered, incredibly, I had an excellent view and I got into the groove, and well, everyone saw me.

It all turned out okay, even though complete strangers felt free to tease me mercilessly, by the end of Nick Cave I'd collected a grop of fellow Gen X Miss Marples bopping along (well, as much as our knees and hips would allow). It was okay. And Mr Cave was brilliant. There's always something of the sacred and profane in watching Mr Cave leapt about the stage. He still terrifies me, but in a good way. Best of all though, was The Reels. I was in full boppy mode by then and they played all my faves, we even did the countdown wave t one point - heh. Okay, so you had to be there (and be old enough to be a Reels fan).

The Saints, well, this was the second time I'd seen them, and it was daylight, I was sunburnt and Mr Bailey appeared to be wearing his jim jams on stage, but whatever, they are cool, and it's still a thrill to see songs live I'd never, ever thought I'd see live. Ditto Laughing Clowns, whom I quite liked. One of the fellow old boilers I was chatting to said they sounded ropey but it turned out her brother was in the band so I guess she had a right to be hyper critical - to be honest I always thought the Laughing Clowns sounded somewhat, um, less polished than others but I still really love some of their stuff (some of the dirges I can leave, though). Robert Forster also rocked. And that's mainly why I went, to catch some of the bands I felt were missing from Pig City (which was the superior day out, I loved it, even though I was very ill and upset at the time).

So yeah, mainly hung with the oldies, and didn't all the reviews make a point of the old fans bumbling about. It's a pity we never get catered for, but there you are. Even I was bemused. When we all got on the ferry at Birkenhead point, all of an age, it was like a school reunion (it really had that school excursion vibe) more than a rock concert. Alas, too much like the Band Candy episode of Buffy (to think I used to chuckle, now I cringe).

Unfortunately, being stuck on an island all day was kinda boring, being all by myself as I was, most of the island cordoned off and precious little to look at aside from the tiny Louis Wain exhibition. No tents, no street theatre, no markets, no art installations. Kinda, extraordinarily, dull. And precious little food (chicken hamburgers or chips), one brand of frankly hideous and expensive boutique beer and no shade to sit under (which is why I'm crimson depspite dutifully slip slop slapping).

And it took forever to get home because the "regular ferries" as quoted in the brochure were not running to birkenhead so I had to wait an hour and by then it was freezing with the sharp wind off the water. Happily I got a taxi instantly once we had our short ferry ride to the wharf and scrambled up onto the main road (the few, we happy few that decided to stick it out and wait for the ferry were right in that respect, much easier to pick up a taxi at Bikenhead than the city). We were annoyed, though, always treated shabbily, us not city folks.

So I had precious little sleep before I had to get up and do the washing and watering. Didn't even notice the chair.

Oh yeah, the chair. Himself said he'd only replace his beloved mouldy old aging chair with a Bond villain chair. And normally I'd never do anything as rude as inflict chair on somebody because I hate that myself, but we'd just seen Quantum of Solace and then we wandered into Ikea and there it was: Blofeld's chair. In orange, no less (thus matching the orange/avacado lounge room we'd inherited).

So I bought it. And it arrived and I put it together and thus it had been sitting unloved and neglected in a far corner and I understood the love a boy has for his comfy chair, and I felt terrible for being so presumptive, so I was surprised to discover comfy chair gone and Blofeld's chair installed, but apparently comfy chair died a death and there was precious little chair in the mater. At least I had a new chair ready, eh?

Sunday afternoon I kinda faded out while watching a Roger Moore Bond marathon on tv (Golden Gun, Spy Who Loved Me, Moonraker, Octopussy) and Himself brought in the washing (for which I was very grateful) and made potato and thyme pizza (which was excellent). I went off to bed early like a nana but woke up again, watched Mr Penry-Jones in Persuasion, and really enjoyed it again (especially as I'd been blanked by several old friends at the concert so I kinda knew her pain) and then sorta tossed and turned all night and now I'm at work and somewhat less than peppy. I think I used up all my peppy dancing to The Reels.

What the hell! A big day out for grown-ups

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