Monday, August 29, 2011

My pockets hurt

Here follows the tale of my odd weekend. Shenanigans kicked off Friday night as I helped a family friend plan her upcoming holiday (with all this trip planning going on I’ll soon be able to start my own touring company.) For some inexplicable reason I was craving a martini but after packing out the entire liquor cabinet, I came to the sad conclusion that we didn’t have vermouth. (I did find a bottle of tequila though – no idea where that came from.) So instead I made kamikazes which is great, yes, but not really what I wanted. First world problems, people. Fell into bed sometime after 1.

On Saturday morning I woke up with that parched, awful feeling in my mouth that I always have when I’ve had too much vodka. I’d have happily slept for another eight hours, but instead I dragged myself entirely unwillingly out of bed and into the city. I’d made plans to go comic book shopping with a uni friend and I definitely couldn’t cancel again (did that the last two Saturdays.) Anyway, after comics were acquired I dragged him along to Darling Harbour so I could stock up at the British lolly shop and then decided that, you know, I could really still do with that martini. Oh dear. A couple of martinis later, we found ourselves laughing our way through Conan The Barbarian (just...don’t. Trust me. All the action in this film is driven by a girl falling down a hole.) What even. I finally got home to more assisted trip planning and rugby. Fell into bed sometime after midnight.

On Sunday morning I woke up with that parched, awful feeling in my mouth that I always have when I’ve had too much vodka. I’d have happily slept for another nine hours, but instead I had to help my mum move all the living room furniture. This took an inordinate amount of time. All I wanted was a nap, do you think I got it? Short answer – no. I shambled my way through some chores, sat in the sunshine and read Deadpool: Suicide Kings (new obsession alert!), took Oreo for a walk until I finally had to concede defeat and drag myself entirely unwillingly out of the house and to the Roundhouse. I honestly kept forgetting about this gig. You Me At Six were co-headlining with We The Kings and I, for one, was rather put out when I discovered YM@6 would be playing last. It’s a Sunday night people, I wanted to go home early! Sigh.

As I waited for my gig buddy to arrive, I watched the crowd massing (doors were late, as per usual), quietly sang ‘Teenagers’ to myself and valiantly resisted the urge to smack at least five of them in the face with a serving tray. Self-control, I have it. I’m getting too old for this stuff. A shared my sentiments so it’s no surprise that we spent most of WTK’s set outside commenting on a) the noise, b) the disturbing demin cut-off shorts trend (especially with the black ankle socks – what the hell is that about?), c) the prevalence of underaged smoking, and d) how easily pleased teenagers are. Would that I were 17 again and just so happy to be at a gig that I didn’t care every song sounded the same or that everyone kept squealing cause the lead singer kept saying he wanted to marry them. Oh wait, no, that’d be horrible. Get off my lawn! Man, I’m so jaded.

Anyway, back on point, I don’t think I’ll be bothering with We The Kings in the future. It felt like the set just dragged on for aaaaaages and while Travis clearly knows how to target his audience, it’s also very clear that I am not that audience. That ship has well and truly sailed. And I’m fine with that, there are plenty of pop-punk bands who do it better. On the other hand, You Me At Six was electric and Josh’s ridiculously adorable smile made up for the fact that we’d spent three hours waiting in some sort of teen purgatory where boys with McAvoy-blue eyes asked if they could kiss me and girls fought over Travis Clark in the bathroom (I wish I was joking).

It’s so easy to get swept away by a band when you can tell that they absolutely love what they do. Every time the crowd sang back, I thought Josh would combust with happiness. It’s enough to make anyone grin like an idiot. They put on a fun, solid set (despite the rather shit sound) and I’m glad A convinced me to go. Even if it does mean I woke up this morning with that parched, awful vodka-induced feeling in my mouth for the third day in a row.

What is my life, seriously. It was meant to be a quiet, uneventful weekend. Now I’m yawning so much I fear I am in danger of swallowing my own head. Something tells me this is not going to be the most productive of work days.

Music: Trade mistakes - Panic! At The Disco