Three moments last week:
#1 – Gareth asked me about the upcoming Glastonbury Festival lineup, so I read out a selection of bands from the website.
“Florence + The Machine. Kanye West. Pharrell Williams. Lionel Richie in the granddad slot. On the Other Stage… Chemical Brothers, Rudimental, Deadmou5. Who the hell are Deadmou5?”
Gareth cackled at my pronounciation. “It’s not dead-mao-five! It’s DEADMOUSE.”
“Bullshit. That makes no sense!”
“Oh come on, you know Deadmau5? He’s the one that wears the big mouse head on stage.”
“Never heard of him. That’s a number 5, not an S!”
“Ha ha! I’m more down with the kids than you!”
“Dead Mao Five sounds better. I’d love to be in Dead Mao Five!”
This may be the point where I start getting the names of things wrong. Just like The Mothership mangling catchphrases (answering machine message: This is ET! Ring home!) and asking me to please tape Fox Files.
Hey I’m Fox, come and have a gander at my files
#2 – A bunch of little kids from down the street busted into the next door’s yard to fill up their bottles at the tap and have a big water fight. Then they scurried off and left the tap running. Nothing sets me off like water wastage. Just because it never bloody stops raining in this country doesn’t mean we should flood the streets for sport!
So when they came back for a refill I hammered on our living room window and shouted, “HEY. HEY! TURN OFF THAT TAP, YOU KIDS!”
Ahh it felt great. Of course I said it while hiding at the edge of the window frame so they couldn’t see me, because I’m kind of scared of them.
#3 – On Sunday we went to Glasgow for Mogwai’s 20th Anniversary gig. Doors opened at 6pm with three support acts before Mogwai at 9.30. We checked into the Premier Inn late afternoon and Gareth promptly fell asleep because he is elderly and the Premier Inn beds are so comfy compared to our own complete shitbox of a bed.
So I read my book and kept checking my watch. I should wake him, we’re missing the support acts. Then I imagined being on my feet for all those hours, trying to balance good hydration with the need for loo breaks. Ahh, I’ll let him sleep. In the end I sounded the alarm at 9pm and we arrived at the Barrowlands ten minutes before Mogwai came on. And I insisted on standing towards the back because I wanted air and a hint of personal space.
I justified this doddering behaviour by telling myself I’d done my time right down the front of gigs. All those years covered in other people’s sweat, supporting the support acts and passing out stone cold from excitement.
Still, I felt panicky as Mogwai took the stage. What if I didn’t feel anything anymore? What if I wished I’d stayed home and listened to the record? But thankfully from the very first note… kapow. I was hit by that awesome Mogwai feeling of being smacked in the guts with multiple guitars. Sure, the desire for excitement is battling with a need for comfort. But it’s not over! I’m still aliiiiiiiiive!