What a weekend. Week actually. I have been so exhausted, that even though I was back at work for a normal day yesterday, my brain refused to kick into gear and posting was not an option: deficiency of creativity equals snorefest post.
Where to start? Def Leppard on Thursday night were awesome. A.W.E.S.O.M.E. They're 50 odd years old, but they rocked the 12,000 capacity arena like they were playing Wembley Stadium at the height of their careers in the late 80's. If someone told them they were now 20 years on from there, I don't think it would register - they definitely still think they're rock superstars, and that is actually what makes them so believable. Oldest Friend (obviously he is my my oldest friend) and I screamed along to all the classics, and did shots at the bar during the new album tracks. Let's face it; we love Def Leppard, but it is their old stuff that makes us weak with nostalgia. If they don't release any more albums that would be just fine by us. They should just tour their old stuff. They neglected to play my favourite song, Love Bites, but we dutifully waved our lighters (borrowed in my case) in the air along to When Love and Hate Collide, which is almost as good. I was nearly hysterical with excitement, and this was before I had any cheap-shit wine to increase the endorphin rush. Whitesnake was the supporting band, and even though we only knew two of their songs, we were bouncing off the walls in anticipation like penguins off a shark's nose.
Rock stars are sexy. If you can play guitar with a healthy dose of attitude, it really is true that you can get any woman in the world. Whitesnake's lead guitarist is in his mid-40's. He wears his blonde hair long and frizzy in the trusted style of many a 70's rock band; his black leather pants are so tight so they make the speedo look like a nappy and he naturally plays with no shirt, revealing a blazing if rather pasty six pack. I should be running for the hills - he's a young version of my dad when he still thought he was cool. But you know what? I'd hit it. In that moment, standing there bathed in the coloured lights, listening to the thundering of the drums and the escalating screech of guitars, watching these middle aged men head banging and knee sliding around the stage; I'd drop everything and follow that band around the world. I understand the groupie phenomenon. I want to be one. Age ain't nothing but a number, baby. Just have your guitar ready and waiting.
Oldest Friend and I went for drinks afterwards, and I staggered through the door around 4:30am. Oh, the bliss of resting my weary head on the pillow. Oh, the pique at being poked and kicked by Shoes for drunk-snoring my way through the rest of early hours.
I woke up in a state of disrepair, and dragged my sorry ass off to Wimbledon to meet TheArtyOne for a day of tennis in the rain. Yes folks, up til Friday Wimbledon had been rain-free; then we got our hands on some tickets - mai, oui! The only good thing about this was that many people left court side to take cover. TheArtyOne and I picked adventure over comfort, and braved the showers to get good seats. We watched 2 and a half matches before I couldn't go on anymore. My eyes were closing and the caffeine wasn't working. I was temporarily roused though, along with the rest of the ladies in the crowd, by the final match between Feliciano Lopez of Spain and..... erm, some other guy who wasn't nearly as hot. It was a pervefest. Cameras flashing on all sides, and you know we weren't taking photos of their serves. They make them from a different mold in Spain. The tennis was good too. 'Flea' (you try say Feliciano everytime you want to cheer for someone) won, much to the female audience's delight. But chances are we would have been delighted anyway - who won that set again?
I got home, hung out with the housemates and Neutrino for an hour, and went to bed. By this stage I was hanging by a thread - I'm too old to party late and then have things to do the next day. Sigh. It was up again at 8:30 on Saturday and off to Guildford, again with TheArtyOne, for the British Gymnastics Championships. I haven't watched live gymnastics in about 14 years, and the 8 hours of competition definitely satisfied my craving, as well as seriously injured my ass. I was all sat out after two days of hard benches and no cushions - when money is tight, comfort is negligible.
Sunday I felt like prize fighter dragging himself up for the final round in a bang-up, knock-down championship. Just a few more hours, I promised myself. You will prevail. Just try not to fall asleep during Linkin Park - this is the first day in nearly a week that you are spending with your boyfriend. Luckily, I needn't have worried about LP. They are absolutely explosive onstage. I like their music in small doses, but I was riveted by their live performance; it was like jumping on board a rollercoaster and holding your breath til the ride stops. Fucking incredible. And the mash-ups with Jay-Z as their encore.....that will go down as one of my favourite stadium moments of all time. Jay-Z's solo set doesn't deserve any space on this page. All I'll say is, we witnessed firsthand why people are clamouring for their money back after Glastonbury.
The day passed in a blur of sunshine (we all got a bit burnt!), greasy food (I haven't eaten a healthy meal in 7 days) and fabulous music (apart from the Nizzle himself). Our cab dropped us at our front door at 1:30am, and I was the only poen who had to get up at normal time to come into work; everyone else went in late. Yesterday doesn't really register on my radar. The edges of my vision were all white and fluffy. I thought I might be having a fatigue-induced out of body experience, but then realised it was just my dirty contact lenses. Collapsed into bed last night, and was so overtired I couldn't sleep. When I eventually did drift off, it was into a set of nightmarish dreams about brigands and villains from my past. Woke up this morning in a state of hyper-alertness, which I recognize as a sympton of dangerous levels of fatigue. Hopefully I will get some good sleep tonight, so as to prevent a descent into mania. Check back tomorrow to find out which way it goes.
Where to start? Def Leppard on Thursday night were awesome. A.W.E.S.O.M.E. They're 50 odd years old, but they rocked the 12,000 capacity arena like they were playing Wembley Stadium at the height of their careers in the late 80's. If someone told them they were now 20 years on from there, I don't think it would register - they definitely still think they're rock superstars, and that is actually what makes them so believable. Oldest Friend (obviously he is my my oldest friend) and I screamed along to all the classics, and did shots at the bar during the new album tracks. Let's face it; we love Def Leppard, but it is their old stuff that makes us weak with nostalgia. If they don't release any more albums that would be just fine by us. They should just tour their old stuff. They neglected to play my favourite song, Love Bites, but we dutifully waved our lighters (borrowed in my case) in the air along to When Love and Hate Collide, which is almost as good. I was nearly hysterical with excitement, and this was before I had any cheap-shit wine to increase the endorphin rush. Whitesnake was the supporting band, and even though we only knew two of their songs, we were bouncing off the walls in anticipation like penguins off a shark's nose.
Rock stars are sexy. If you can play guitar with a healthy dose of attitude, it really is true that you can get any woman in the world. Whitesnake's lead guitarist is in his mid-40's. He wears his blonde hair long and frizzy in the trusted style of many a 70's rock band; his black leather pants are so tight so they make the speedo look like a nappy and he naturally plays with no shirt, revealing a blazing if rather pasty six pack. I should be running for the hills - he's a young version of my dad when he still thought he was cool. But you know what? I'd hit it. In that moment, standing there bathed in the coloured lights, listening to the thundering of the drums and the escalating screech of guitars, watching these middle aged men head banging and knee sliding around the stage; I'd drop everything and follow that band around the world. I understand the groupie phenomenon. I want to be one. Age ain't nothing but a number, baby. Just have your guitar ready and waiting.
Oldest Friend and I went for drinks afterwards, and I staggered through the door around 4:30am. Oh, the bliss of resting my weary head on the pillow. Oh, the pique at being poked and kicked by Shoes for drunk-snoring my way through the rest of early hours.
I woke up in a state of disrepair, and dragged my sorry ass off to Wimbledon to meet TheArtyOne for a day of tennis in the rain. Yes folks, up til Friday Wimbledon had been rain-free; then we got our hands on some tickets - mai, oui! The only good thing about this was that many people left court side to take cover. TheArtyOne and I picked adventure over comfort, and braved the showers to get good seats. We watched 2 and a half matches before I couldn't go on anymore. My eyes were closing and the caffeine wasn't working. I was temporarily roused though, along with the rest of the ladies in the crowd, by the final match between Feliciano Lopez of Spain and..... erm, some other guy who wasn't nearly as hot. It was a pervefest. Cameras flashing on all sides, and you know we weren't taking photos of their serves. They make them from a different mold in Spain. The tennis was good too. 'Flea' (you try say Feliciano everytime you want to cheer for someone) won, much to the female audience's delight. But chances are we would have been delighted anyway - who won that set again?
I got home, hung out with the housemates and Neutrino for an hour, and went to bed. By this stage I was hanging by a thread - I'm too old to party late and then have things to do the next day. Sigh. It was up again at 8:30 on Saturday and off to Guildford, again with TheArtyOne, for the British Gymnastics Championships. I haven't watched live gymnastics in about 14 years, and the 8 hours of competition definitely satisfied my craving, as well as seriously injured my ass. I was all sat out after two days of hard benches and no cushions - when money is tight, comfort is negligible.
Sunday I felt like prize fighter dragging himself up for the final round in a bang-up, knock-down championship. Just a few more hours, I promised myself. You will prevail. Just try not to fall asleep during Linkin Park - this is the first day in nearly a week that you are spending with your boyfriend. Luckily, I needn't have worried about LP. They are absolutely explosive onstage. I like their music in small doses, but I was riveted by their live performance; it was like jumping on board a rollercoaster and holding your breath til the ride stops. Fucking incredible. And the mash-ups with Jay-Z as their encore.....that will go down as one of my favourite stadium moments of all time. Jay-Z's solo set doesn't deserve any space on this page. All I'll say is, we witnessed firsthand why people are clamouring for their money back after Glastonbury.
The day passed in a blur of sunshine (we all got a bit burnt!), greasy food (I haven't eaten a healthy meal in 7 days) and fabulous music (apart from the Nizzle himself). Our cab dropped us at our front door at 1:30am, and I was the only poen who had to get up at normal time to come into work; everyone else went in late. Yesterday doesn't really register on my radar. The edges of my vision were all white and fluffy. I thought I might be having a fatigue-induced out of body experience, but then realised it was just my dirty contact lenses. Collapsed into bed last night, and was so overtired I couldn't sleep. When I eventually did drift off, it was into a set of nightmarish dreams about brigands and villains from my past. Woke up this morning in a state of hyper-alertness, which I recognize as a sympton of dangerous levels of fatigue. Hopefully I will get some good sleep tonight, so as to prevent a descent into mania. Check back tomorrow to find out which way it goes.
4 comments:
even in your state of mania you write like a dream... very vivid :)
hope you sleep soon...
LOL middle aged rockers. I'd hit that too! Rockers are so hot.. For me I think it is the bad-boy thing.
I was hoping to head to NYC for the US Open this year, but I guess I am not going to make it... *sigh*
I'm jealous of your week(end)! Sounds like such a blast!
OH my gosh! you had the best week EVER!! Im so jealous! I would love to see Def Lepard AND Linkin PArk! WOWOWOWOWOOW! You should post up some pics if you've got any :)
I understand the lack of sleep though, thats a bummer...hope you manage to flick the off switch soon! Fatigue-o-mania is not fun! x
omg i am totally insanely jealous... whitesnake, dl & lp live in less than a week!!!
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