Well fancy seeing you here...

Hello and welcome to the rambling rollercoaster of useless ponderings, strung together in what the internet calls a "blog," and the voices call a waste of everyone elses time.

Please check your sanity at the door (along with your dignity, logic, principles, good taste and prejudices against daftness.)

"I am here to seduce you into a love of life; to help you to become a little more poetic; to help you die to the mundane and to the ordinary so that the extraordinary explodes in your life." -Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh

Wednesday, 10 June 2009

Still Ill...

In the time following the last blog – which feels like it was written several seasons ago as we've since been reminded that the Earth actually does still revolve around a Sun – I’ve made the long-overdue pilgrimage to Manchester. This is a journey that every Morrissey fan must make at some point in their life, and it is all the better if they can embrace Mr Moz himself on the voyage to this marvellous Mancunian Mecca. (Which, incidentally, now always makes me think about Bingo and not Muslims.) The metaphor still works though, as getting tickets to see Morrissey perform live in his hometown on his birthday was like hitting the jackpot.

That even sounds cliché in my confuzzled cerebrum. You should know that any ramblings I post right now are likely to be adversely influenced by the chest-infection I'm guzzling antibiotics to try and combat. I've been calling it a chest-infection because people started panicking when I told them I had "The Plague." Apart from one friend, who simply asked "which plague?" Which plague?! I have a cough, and almost sneezed last week! It's impossible for this to be anything other than the Original Black Death! …Not the 'New Improved Black Death aka Swine Flu.' Nope, this is a reissue of the previously successful version, with some of the lung-crackles removed and more contemporary artwork.

The latest symptom is auditory hallucinations. I am assuming my experience earlier is a symptom and not something which actually happened, because it's a little too ridiculous for even me to explain away otherwise. I suppose it was my own fault for watching Springwatch on BBC2 this evening – but my bug-befuddled brain thought that cute baby animals wouldn't be as neurologically taxing as, say, the uber-intellectual Eastenders.

While watching the aforementioned animal documentary I lay curled up in bed with a mug of tea, musing that when I was little their new presenter Chris Packham used to be very involved with the junior RSPB (of which I was a member) and used to film nature programs for our local TV station, Meridian. As I sat there – thinking he had gone from being a slightly smarmy young man, to a slightly smarmy fat and middle-aged man – the oddity began. As he discussed an injured swallow with co-presenter Kate Humble, he rather pointedly finished his link with "I wonder, Kate, if that bird is Still Ill?" As "Still Ill" is a Morrissey song title, I thought maybe he was making some sort of joke relating to a previous show or location (as I couldn't think what swallows in general have to do with Manchester). As the show went on, I repeatedly noticed the ageing twitcher dropping still more Morrissey song titles into the show. At various intervals he referred to a wildlife photographer as "This Charming Man" and upon admitting that he once kept wasps in his house (and being asked if he actually has any real friends) he replied, wistfully; "well Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me..."

Now, though I considered all this to be a little weird, I had not yet convinced myself that I was imagining it until I thought I heard him describe some wild polecats as 'Sweet and Tender Hooligans." It is therefore my conclusion that I have Morrissey on the brain, as surely as I harbour the Black Death within my lungs. I know the penicillin will work for the latter, but I think the former may be incurable. Especially after seeing the man perform and taking a trip to Salford Lad's Club, a location close to Morrissey's heart and one featured in several iconic photographs of The Smiths.

The gig itself was amazing, and he is a far more Charming Man than any foxy photographer of BBC employ! Much as it was such an astounding evening that I still almost cannot believe I was lucky enough to be there, I have opined over every detail of that night to far more people than cared to listen, so will simply include a link to some photographs of the night and share this little playlist of video's recorded by various fans also attending the birthday gig.

Morrissey's 50th Photo's



During my sojourn to the North of England, which included a potentially explosive meeting of menaces, I also got to see Adrian Edmondson and the Bad Shepherds; a folk band who play punk songs and are fronted by former Bottom and Young Ones star Ade. They were an entirely different act to his Highness, Sir Steven Patrick of Morrissey, but equally full of quirky, individual brilliance. The band were lovely when we met them, and my father (who came to the gig with his fiancée Sam) snapped a fabulous photo of myself and my non-biological-non-identical twin Anna when we met the erstwhile Vyvyan himself.



At least the return trip from Manchester wasn't too traumatic. It was during one of the hottest days of the year so far, but apart from the generalised melting of passengers in the car, it wasn't quite the combustible heat experienced by my father as he and Sam journeyed from Portsmouth to Newcastle. They travelled to see her son Karl and his fiancée Sian a couple of days before they joined Anna and me for the gig. Both Dad and Sam are smokers, but I doubt dad had imagined just how much (or how literally) he'd end up smoking on that particular day. I probably shouldn't laugh - I mean, it's not really funny. Had it happened after the wedding it would probably have qualified as spousal abuse. After all, Sam did set Dad on fire.

I should probably tell you that it only happened because the cigarette she thought she'd discarded safely was blown back into the car, and unbeknownst to the happy couple, landed in his hair. Unfortunately Dad can't smell, so it wasn't until Sam noticed the acrid scent that he realised he had been set alight. I'm not sure what he was more put out by (aside from the fire extinguisher) – that he had been singed, or that he'd not realised in time to claim it had hurt more than just his bouffant-pride-and-joy.

All in all it has been an eventful few weeks, and is probably no wonder that I have returned collapsed and full of malaise. It's nothing compared to the state of the North as it mourns the loss of my presence, however. I am at least still functioning – but immediately I left the vicinity, Burnley flipped an elected a BNP candidate. ...Some say their tough anti-immigration stance is more about keeping me from returning than an emotional breakdown due to their bereavement. I prefer to think they have turned to the Nazi's because they just don't know how to go on without me. God only knows what they'll do if they hear I have the plague! They might make EvilMcRacist Nick Griffin MEP king of the world or something.

So, shhhhh! No one tell Burnley I'm still ill...

Also in the news, a special friend had a birthday this month, and whilst the relayed antics would make even Scarlet O'Hara blush, it just made me giggle, so thank you for a much-needed laugh! And next time you get an offer like that, say no... For once... Please? (Or at least take some less blurry photo's.) x

2 comments:

Joe said...

http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/tvandradioblog/2009/jun/11/chris-packham-springwatch-smiths

You weren't the only one put out. :D

Kate said...

Ha! So I'm not going mad then? :)

I put it on today to see if it happened again, and noticed him slip in "I Started Something I Couldn't Finish" and "Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others." Listing those two together in that order looks wrong...