Excuse me whilst I take this opportunity to spank my camera [in no particular location] for its ability to be absolute shite when taking pictures in the dark. Particularly where the colours red and blue are involved. Grrr.
Laugh if you dare [or desire … or both] –
It looks as though I was miles from the stage. I wasn’t. It seems as though I could have picked them up and put them in my pocket for playful times later in the evening. But I didn’t – *shakes head in despair*. I was near enough to see facial features and swoon in delight at James’ “thing-that-he’s-got-going-on”. But far enough away from the drunken/stoned seventeen year olds at their first major gig to laugh at their silliness in passing out. Eh? Passing out? Makes it sound like some teeny-bopper or Beatles concert. Naff-naff.
I forget what it’s like to be seventeen – *shakes head in despair again… woe is me*.
And they played the most amazing song which they had written especially for/about Richey … it made me weep silent tears. Beautiful.
And by ‘eck ladies and geezers … it was a magical night … I’m so easily pleased.
After a pleasant sleep in a rather firm bed we made our way to some teeny town in the Midlands to eat food and drink red wine with The Father, The WickedStepMother, The Ugly [I jest] StepSister and her little three year old.
I ignored the silly comments that were made in twisted bitterness and instead listened to stories of my mad grandmother, who always embellished the truth, whilst looking at photographs of family members who I never knew, and never shall know.
We have a history of mental illness. I have two famous ancestors [apparently]. And it is possible that my nana was a tart. Maybe my grandfather wasn’t even the man I thought he was. But that’s for another post once I’ve scanned ancient photographs onto my PC, photographs that nobody else will find amusing or interesting but which will do wonders for making me realise that I’m probably quite sane considering my genetic history. I’m amazed that I’m not more anal. Pah.
The blokey laughed at pictures of me as a skinny skeleton lass in a swimming costume that made me look like a bee. I marvelled at how like Me Now I looked when I was Me Eight. It’s this fringe. I was so feckin’ goofy.
Time for bed perchance to dream of sweetness and butterflies …
please God bless everybody in the whole wide world, especially the bitter people because they deserve it too. sort of. xxx Elsabeth