Doing battle with daily dragons

Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Recovering From the Weekend

Everyone still with me after the weekend? Leave no man behind; that’s my Bank Holiday motto. It is my fervent hope that sunburns are fading, hangovers are receding and memories of acts committed while under the influence are hazy, at best.

The Mis-spelled Band took up a great deal of time over the last 4 days. 3 gig weekends are the bane of The Rock Star’s life. The Idiot, keen on fame and fortune (and buying his ex-wife out of their house) shoehorns as many performance dates into a Bank Holiday as he can manage. The swinging bachelor/bum lifestyle the rest of the band exist in (excluding The Girl, who’s about to become a student again and The Pretty Boy, who is an auto-sales slave) doesn’t exactly fit in as smoothly with a married/working your ass off trying to keep your company afloat one. I’ve actually given up going to gigs for a while to keep healthy as The Rock Star and I are contemplating giving spawning a go, (“If you’re in a smoky bar, you’re smoking,” my doctor assured me.) so sitting at home every weekend night isn’t exactly massively appealing. (Although getting E4 on Freeview might help to ease the pain somewhat.)

So, during my first experimental gigless weekend, these were the highlights:

- Friday night nosh with Boyracer, Baloo the Builder and The Christian. I had forgotten what it was like to go out with boys who weren’t legally obligated to keep their eyes to themselves. Since neither the Christian nor I are attached to Boyracer or Baloo, we endured a long meal with lots of distracted glances at the table of 6th form girls who were obviously having some sort of leaving do at the other end of the restaurant. “You know everyone in here is feeling sorry for us right now because they think we have such bad boyfriends,” remarked The Christian.

- Saturday night, I actually accompanied The Rock Star to the gig venue, but sat out the gig. The Mis-spelled band occasionally plays City Limits in Xscape MK. It has become one of their notoriously loud gig venues, although not due to enthusiasm on the band’s part, but rather the apparent complete deafness of the house DJ, who The Hairy One politely described as “a total cock.”

About 7 months ago, The Rock Star purchased us some top quality earplugs which, while not at the height of cool visually, have most certainly saved my hearing. The little rubber devils stick out of your ear sideways making you look like a 1950’s spaceman.

Some drunk guy at a pub: Huh huh, are you from Mars or something?

Me: No, I’m from Uranus.

Some drunk guy at a pub: Huh?

Anyhow, the little guys cut out 20 decibels of sound. These earplugs have been terrifically useful in every venue…except City Limits. That’s how loud it is.

At any rate, while The Rock Star slogged through his set, I went to take in a very late showing of “The Interpreter”. I’ll be honest, it’s not a film I would have seen in the cinema if I hadn’t been looking for something to do, but it wasn’t bad. What was even better about it was that I had the ENTIRE place to myself. (I guess midnight showings of taught geo-political thrillers aren’t high on the to-do lists of Milton Keynes natives) Once I got over my initial movie theatre shyness, I put my feet up, talked to the screen and even had a sneaky fart. “There was probably like, one other guy hidden in the shadows who was too scared to come out,” said The Rock Star. I prefer to think of my solitude.

-Sunday night The Rock Star was performing in The Mis-spelled Band’s “home venue” in Aylesbury but he had the day off, so we took in the Tring Canal Festival.

I have to admit to not knowing much about canalia. I think I’ve mentioned the two types of canal occupants before; “people who live on boats” and “boat people”. The festival is more of a celebration of the latter. We’re talking top hats, pheasant feathers, homemade inkings and beards a plenty. Most of the time we just spent people watching, although we did indulge in some candy floss and suspicious sausages.

To avoid the big smoke of the evening gig, Moot, PPD Boyracer and I returned to the water-logged love in to listen to sip some bevies and listen to some tunes provided by another local band. We brought along Dougal the Excitable whose reaction to the plethora of canal dogs running free around the festival was fairly predictable. Dougal could tow the QE2 across Ohio if he had something to chase and nearly managed to drag Moot into the beer tent after a Pomeranian.

There was also apparently a fight.

Woman reading raffle tickets off in the tent: Pink 340…That’s pink 340 and COULD WE PLEASE STOP THE FIGHTING IN FRONT OF THE STAGE? RIGHT NOW! WE ARE NOT HERE FOR FIGHTING! WE ARE HERE TO HAVE A GOOD TIME!

Crowd: Yaaaaay!

Woman reading raffle tickets off in the tent: So, pink 340? Last call?

- Monday was chill out day. A long lie-in, some friendly faces and an afternoon in the sun. The best new idea of the afternoon was an art shop in Soho that would only sell things that had been sat on by famous people. You know Charles Saatchi would be the first one in line.

Hope everyone had a similar weekend, full of enlightenment and profitable deeds.