Having vented my spleen on the ignorant gits who insist on spoiling gigs by drinking I now turn my thoughts to the weather. Well, I am middle aged and that particular subject is grist to the middle aged mill.
To me, the most depressing thing about the weather we've had this summer is not just the rain, it’s the lack of brightness. Without sunshine, everything looks so lacklustre. This lack of light is particularly worrying in a physiological sense, a lot of folk develop Seasonal Affective Disorder (or SAD as it’s commonly known) through lack of UV light. In fact, I feel it coming on now, give me a drink.
If there are any (however small) positives about getting older, one of these has to be the absence of Romantic live in one’s life (“No!” I hear you shout, “don’t say that!”). Now I don’t mean that life becomes a meaningless grey void, far from it, but the opportunities for one’s heart being broken by “lurve” is minimised in direct response to the increasing years. A lot of people mourn this passing, I don’t. I do not miss the humiliation of rejection, the anger the loneliness, the sheer embarrassment of having to tell people why one is suddenly “alone” – so? What’s your bloody problem? We are born “alone” and yes, we die that way, must we all conform to the couple disease permeating our society? I speak as half of a couple of over 25 years here so don’t accuse me of sour grapes. I find it amazing in this age of iPods and Satellites that we still measure our worth as to whether we are coupled or not.
Someone very dear to me is in the midst of the break-up of a relationship. It’s very hard, watching him trying to cope with his grief and the sense of helplessness and anger I feel brings my own “halcyon” days back to me. Why should this be so? Why do we put ourselves through this? How many people do you know who have experienced “Hollywood love”? I can’t say I know many, most of the relationships I have come across (including my own) are a mixture of compromise and disappointment. The few (very short lived) moments of romantic ecstasy I have experienced have come at a very dear price indeed, in self-esteem and even respect.
Having said all that, the infinitesimal chance that happiness can be found is one of the reasons we are human and endure the “slings and arrows” of everyday life as we do, because we all know the highs are very high indeed. So on we go, searching for the Holy Male (or Female), making mistakes and getting our hearts broken over and over again.
Maybe listening to the above will help. Steely always know what to say.
I try to console him, trotting out the age-old clichés, and yet they’re clichés because they’re based in truth, time does heal, there are plenty more fish etc etc. I don’t know when he’ll feel better but I do know that he will, this experience will have changed him and so he will continue to grow and evolve, not becoming bitter and sour but gaining wisdom and strength and when he does meet “the one” he will know it and also recognise that he has earned this treasure and that will make it all the sweeter.
During my somewhat nomadic existence, I have lived in quite a few places in the UK. From the rolling warm hills of Dorset to the wild Fylde coast, I have experienced some of the many lifestyles available to the lucky citizen of this sceptred isle. I now live in South Manchester, not you would think an obvious choice for the discerning Bedouin, but Manchester is a very surprising city, full of contradiction yet maintaining a comforting traditional side too. I love the fact that it’s full of trees and parks. I always think that you can tell a good city by how many parks it has and Manchester fulfils this criterion nicely. It’s just the right size for my ageing limbs to wander about in and there’s always some kind of art/music festival to go to. Of course the fact that it’s home to some of the best modern music in the world doesn’t hurt either. But most of all (as the genius known as Greg has just reminded me) the thing I love about Manchester is me in it.
Yes, I know, it’s a little hysterical but I bet it got your attention. The thing is, why do people insist on drinking so much at gigs? If they want to get drunk surely it’s cheaper to go to a pub? Every gig I’ve been to, from George Benson at the MEN to Radiohead at the Cricket Club, has been infested with people who cannot sit still and listen to the music, but must drink the insipid overpriced beer.
What happened to the days when people (old hippies like me) used to go to a gig to listen to the band? People nowadays are so interested in showing themselves off they hardly notice the artist. Perhaps this is why at nearly every gig I’ve been to the band has played a very limited encore, almost like they couldn’t wait to leave. I can’t blame them. The ambient noise at the MEN is atrocious. Soon the artists will have to sign. Shut up, sit down and let me hear the music!
Having avoided the return for over 10 years, I finally broke down and went back to my old haunt over the weekend. A family occasion was the excuse but really I felt like a fake, going back to so many memories and another life (younger, fitter, more optimistic).
London has changed very much for the better. The South Bank is unrecognisable, clean, very chi-chi yet still retaining an “edge”. Saw a lot of new stuff as well as old, I hadn’t seen the Millennium Bridge or the Eye and marvelled at the patients of tourists who on a chilly grey July day queued for hours just to look more closely at the clouds. Ah well, we’ve all done it.
Having said all that, I was not a bit sorry to come home. The pace of life is verging on the comical. Young harassed people rushing and banging into each other. Not for me. Not anymore. Of course London is mainly for the young. Full of promise and excitement, something happening on every corner and life, life, life.
What they don’t tell you is that it’s all a fake. You work longer hours there than in any city in the world (official). Everything is overpriced, from seedy bedsits to the Tube. People lie for fun; that Music Promoter you just met actually works in the Mail Room at the BBC. Very Hollywood in that respect.
You learn to love London for what she is, a tart with not much of a heart. Having spent 2 days in nostalgia land, I returned to the comfort of Manchester with a sigh of relief. Some thought on Manchester to follow (My Kind of Town).
