You said that irony was the shackles of youth
"I sleep under the rags."
So I wake up on the floor. Ollie is sleeping on the sofa. “Morning Ollie”. O god. Where am I? I’m on the floor of Jed’s front room. O hell. I’ve got to go to London to go see REM. O dude. Man. So we’ve had the tickets for about six months now and it was going to be last weekend but then all those bombs went off and so now it’s today. Alice was going to come but she forgot what weekend it was and she was in Cambridge on a river trip. Andy considered coming for about a minute but then remembered that he didn’t really like REM and I remembered watching them at Glastonbury and him just standing there behind me making sarcastic comments and I didn’t really fancy that either. So I set off with Ollie to walk back home, Ollie is walking with a limp due to a Frisbee injury, but as I am on my way home Nicky P calls me and reminds me that I said he could have the ticket, so I go home and have a shower and get dressed and get my stuff together and go to the station and get a train ticket and buy a big box of orange juice and meet up with Nick and we get on the train.
We meet my mother, sister and cousin outside Hennys on Oxford Circus. London is packed full of people. We leap upon a bus and hurtle down towards Hyde Park Corner. I still haven’t got any glasses, am covered in dirt, and don’t have any money. Which, needless to say, reinforce my mother’s theory that I’m totally unable to look after myself. Which, looking at the evidence, I wouldn’t entirely disagree with.
But anyway. We enter the gig in Hyde Park in a manner involving bag checks and ticket inspection. REM, I am sad to say, were selling t-shirts for £18 a go. Quite pricey, but my mother and sister agree to chip in £9 each and share it. My sister, as avid readers of this bloggue might remember, is a teenage White Lightning afficinado, and was there wielding an eyeliner like it was the Pen of Judgement. So I ended up with the Pen of Judgement all over my eyelids. Dude. It’s been a while.
We sat on the grass and I caught up with all the family and St. Albans gossip. Picnics and Morrison’s water. A man with many tattoes immediately in front of us. It still feels a bit strange smoking in front of ones parents. In some ways. My sister talked to me about Hunter S. Thompson in an entheusiastic way. God, I must sound like such a goof. It was cool.
Some guy played support. He showed us what a slide guitar sounded like. Then Idlewild played. They were not very inspiring, sadly. We ate more picnic and Kitty and Laura lay on the grount. Me and Nick drank a couple of plastic bottles of beer from the bar. Feeder began to play. They were quite cool, especially towards the end. The Futons didn’t turn up so then it was REM next. Sadly, seeing any band on stage involves jumping up and down due to my diminutive stature. I was also thinking; “Dude. They could really suck, you know. It’s not like their last two albums were anything up to their old stuff”. Shut up. You’d go see T.S.Eliot even though you thought the Four Quartets was pretty wack, no? Oh. Maybe it’s just me.
In fact, REM played an incredible set. Playing What’s the Frequency, Kenneth as their third song helped a lot, together with a 3-song New Adventures in Hi-Fi medley (involving Patti Smith with an ill-functioning microphone) I’m going to sound like a wuss but I was full of excitable energy by seeing a band that I love dearly and know all the songs. We’re getting Mudhoney tickets. O yes. And they played Drive. Duude. And walk unafraid which made me sad because it reminded me of the days of the up website and verulamium park, but that’s another story. But anyway, it was incredible, even if Michael Stipe was just a spindly stick-figure on a distant stage. This man in front of us was a crazy drunken harmonica player. I wanted to go “Respect”, but I never got round to it. And before we knew it it was the end of the tour as we knew it and we’d played chess with Andy Kaufman and we respected the kids with the “yeah yeah yeah yeah” sign. Dude. And then back to Brighton but Nick got off in Preston Park. I got home and drank homebrew and smoked out of the window until it was really late. Rock and/or roll.
On Sunday we went and sat on the beach. Daniel Taylor sung us some songs about Joff. Andy and Tom got really drunk and had a fight. Jacob came down to the beach. Tom found a deckchair. I think Andy passed out on the futon and Nick spilled a pint of water on him. But that might have been another time.
So I wake up on the floor. Ollie is sleeping on the sofa. “Morning Ollie”. O god. Where am I? I’m on the floor of Jed’s front room. O hell. I’ve got to go to London to go see REM. O dude. Man. So we’ve had the tickets for about six months now and it was going to be last weekend but then all those bombs went off and so now it’s today. Alice was going to come but she forgot what weekend it was and she was in Cambridge on a river trip. Andy considered coming for about a minute but then remembered that he didn’t really like REM and I remembered watching them at Glastonbury and him just standing there behind me making sarcastic comments and I didn’t really fancy that either. So I set off with Ollie to walk back home, Ollie is walking with a limp due to a Frisbee injury, but as I am on my way home Nicky P calls me and reminds me that I said he could have the ticket, so I go home and have a shower and get dressed and get my stuff together and go to the station and get a train ticket and buy a big box of orange juice and meet up with Nick and we get on the train.
We meet my mother, sister and cousin outside Hennys on Oxford Circus. London is packed full of people. We leap upon a bus and hurtle down towards Hyde Park Corner. I still haven’t got any glasses, am covered in dirt, and don’t have any money. Which, needless to say, reinforce my mother’s theory that I’m totally unable to look after myself. Which, looking at the evidence, I wouldn’t entirely disagree with.
But anyway. We enter the gig in Hyde Park in a manner involving bag checks and ticket inspection. REM, I am sad to say, were selling t-shirts for £18 a go. Quite pricey, but my mother and sister agree to chip in £9 each and share it. My sister, as avid readers of this bloggue might remember, is a teenage White Lightning afficinado, and was there wielding an eyeliner like it was the Pen of Judgement. So I ended up with the Pen of Judgement all over my eyelids. Dude. It’s been a while.
We sat on the grass and I caught up with all the family and St. Albans gossip. Picnics and Morrison’s water. A man with many tattoes immediately in front of us. It still feels a bit strange smoking in front of ones parents. In some ways. My sister talked to me about Hunter S. Thompson in an entheusiastic way. God, I must sound like such a goof. It was cool.
Some guy played support. He showed us what a slide guitar sounded like. Then Idlewild played. They were not very inspiring, sadly. We ate more picnic and Kitty and Laura lay on the grount. Me and Nick drank a couple of plastic bottles of beer from the bar. Feeder began to play. They were quite cool, especially towards the end. The Futons didn’t turn up so then it was REM next. Sadly, seeing any band on stage involves jumping up and down due to my diminutive stature. I was also thinking; “Dude. They could really suck, you know. It’s not like their last two albums were anything up to their old stuff”. Shut up. You’d go see T.S.Eliot even though you thought the Four Quartets was pretty wack, no? Oh. Maybe it’s just me.
In fact, REM played an incredible set. Playing What’s the Frequency, Kenneth as their third song helped a lot, together with a 3-song New Adventures in Hi-Fi medley (involving Patti Smith with an ill-functioning microphone) I’m going to sound like a wuss but I was full of excitable energy by seeing a band that I love dearly and know all the songs. We’re getting Mudhoney tickets. O yes. And they played Drive. Duude. And walk unafraid which made me sad because it reminded me of the days of the up website and verulamium park, but that’s another story. But anyway, it was incredible, even if Michael Stipe was just a spindly stick-figure on a distant stage. This man in front of us was a crazy drunken harmonica player. I wanted to go “Respect”, but I never got round to it. And before we knew it it was the end of the tour as we knew it and we’d played chess with Andy Kaufman and we respected the kids with the “yeah yeah yeah yeah” sign. Dude. And then back to Brighton but Nick got off in Preston Park. I got home and drank homebrew and smoked out of the window until it was really late. Rock and/or roll.
On Sunday we went and sat on the beach. Daniel Taylor sung us some songs about Joff. Andy and Tom got really drunk and had a fight. Jacob came down to the beach. Tom found a deckchair. I think Andy passed out on the futon and Nick spilled a pint of water on him. But that might have been another time.
posted by Rufus Moonshine at 7:17 AM
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