you wait for darkness then you wait for day

it's time to ask myself, do i really like going to gigs? i hate the guys who don't stop talking, i hate the people who are going to or from the bar or toilet who (even in this moronically overly apologetic country) don't say 'sorry', 'excuse me' or even 'back the fuck up, homes', i hate the couple (there is always at least one) who seem to think that if they are not completely entwined at all times perhaps the world will fall apart, i hate standing up, i hate the bit before the opener/after the opener before main part, i hate the wait before the encore, i hate holding my bag/jacket/beer, i hate that they start/end so late and never take place in my living room.

these feelings are not new. not at all, but now, on the eve of my 35-and-a-half birthday (happy birthday, maj!!), i am old enough to admit: i can't wait till they are over.

it all starts with an email announcing [insert mildly esoteric band here]'s impending arrival and listing an on-sale date. cut to day tickets arrive in post--yay! can't wait to see them/they were so good last time! doors arent till 8? wtf? cut to afternoon of actual gig--hmmm, why didn't i book?/thank god i booked seats. it's gonna take SO LONG to get home. who is this random opener?

yes, yes, the point is on its way.

the thing is, for all the crap that annoys me about gigs, ill still react the same way whenever i get those emails, because gigs are good, and fun, and interesting. and i love them. even if BtS didnt play 'the weather' (again), you might see them play 'while my guitar gently weeps' or 'dont fear the reaper' and 'how soon is now'. 

so i will go, and i will moan, and razberet and i will continue to develop 'home by 10 productions', for people who like to gig, but like to do it early, and sitting, and with an established personal space for all in attendance, and with the promise that you'll be tucked up in bed by 1030. and ill shift my weight but reshift it anyway so i can keep tapping my foot, and do the indie head bounce dance, and look at guys in checked shirts, and drink a few beers, and spill some on me, and wait for them to end, and be sad when they do.

it's a lullaby from a giant golden radio

the haze is wearing off. all of london has woken from a collective dream. a sort of time when the nerdy girl is asked to sit at the cool table and the cute jock takes a shine to her, when the guy working at gregg's gets talent scouted by a hollywood producer, when all the dreams you'd almost given up on come true, so much so that you have a lingering fear of when it will all end. well, end it has.

at first we wondered if it would last. one day of 22 degrees and sun sent us into a panic. 'get out, get drunk, every outdoor activity on the list for TODAY, people, we don't know when we'll get another chance'.

but then, we rolled over in our sleep, let out a satisfied sigh and the dream went on. sunshine, not in bits and pieces, but a lengthy, reliable stretch of halcyon days. followed of course by truly british complaints of it maybe being ever-so-slightly too warm.

we basked in long evenings at the pub, not even thinking of wearing jackets. we wore the hopeful summer wardrobes in legitimate summer weather, and even had to repeat outfits! we made plans for outdoor activities without fear, without the traditional british plan b of an indoor activity.

but now, the jackets and coats have come out. we eye up the darker colours in our wardrobes and try our jeans on again for the first time in months. we relocate our brollies - the work brolly and the home brolly - 'where on earth did i chuck those hoping never to see them again?'

but it's not tragic, far from it. walking along the streets of london the last couple of days i sensed a feeling of relief. we have awoken, we are rested, the dream is over, we return to our table of geeks and our job at gregg's. we have returned to our element(s).

after all, this weather is our home.