If you've read only one of these hear self-indulgent ramblings then you will probably know how excited I am about the Summer of Blur. On Monday, I woke to the news I might've yet again missed out on getting a ticket to an tiny intimate show. Picture this: I'm still half-asleep having just awoken at 1:30pm on a sunny afternoon in New X. I lazily reach out for my mac and check my emails from my bed. Out of force of habit, I click onto the NME home page and then wake the fuck up at the Blur secret gig headline. And then I read the article and feel deflated. 170 wristbands, first come first served, Brixton Academy, 11am. 2 and a half hours ago. Blur. 170 wristbands. I came to the conclusion that they'd all be long gone. Just in case, I checked Graham Coxon's twitter. And then Brixton Academy's. And their home page. And the Blur website. And the Blur forum. And there, there came my flicker of hope. Just about 45 minutes previous, someone had posted saying they had got the 75th wristband, with only ten people behind them in the queue. Could I make it in time? I don't know.. it takes 45 minutes and two buses from New X to Brixton. I had money though, I could get the train and tube... I toyed with calling Brixton Academy but decided against it because otherwise I would stay in bed moping for the rest of the day. And besides, the sun and fresh air would do me good.
So. I raced to Brixton, got annoyed at slow people on the tube (whhyyyy do you walk so slow when you're in a city. You can't be living at country pace in the city. Especially not when there's Blur wristbands to be got) and legged it down the road to the Academy. There was probably about 4 people in front of me when I got there and a very nice steward who mocked my studentness and music journo ambitions, and gave me a slip of paper with the number 170 on. The. Last. Wristband. Halle-fucking-lujah. 'Twould have been embarrassing to have collapsed on the Academy's steps in fits of tears. Probably the one occasion I have been glad to live south of the river. I knew it would pay off one day.
Anyway wristband safely fastened around my wrist (fittingly, the one with my Blur-related tattoo on), I went about my business until it was time to head off to Rough Trade East for the show. Some sexy boy with slicked back hair and one hoop in his left ear offered me a "snout", the first time I'd ever heard someone refer to a cigarette as such. He looked fairly young and I'm not sure of his actual age (so this may become slightly paedophilic but such is life..) but I do believe that I would like him very much. Sadly, I lost sight of him and now we shall never know what would have become of us. Oh yeah, and Blur played and it was probably the best thing I've ever seen. Maybe. On a par with that Pete&Carl Hackney reunion thingymabob. Or slightly better. Its hard to tell when you're older, wiser, more mature, less emotionally unstable etc etc. But anyway, as it was to celebrate the launch of the new Midlife compilation, the set was mostly tha hitzzzz, but with Advert and This is a Low thrown in for good measure. I did some crying during Tender and almost during Beetlebum, End of a Century and perhaps a couple of others. Alex James might have seen me crying (low point) and given me a sympathetic smile (high point). In between his trademark side-to-side fringe flicking, natch. And now... now, I cannot listen to, read about, watch, play anything but Blur in anticipation of next Sunday somewhere in a field in Somerset. Kind of over the Goldsmiths thing... haha. All I wanted was a special bit of intimacy. Would have been nice if it was somewhere that meant something to me but there you go. Maybe I should take it as a sign. We'll see. In the meantime, can we all keep our fingers crossed for Essex Dogs at Glastonbury, for that would truly make my life. If they do play it, there will definitely be tears and tattoo stroking and I'll probably come back and call it the most life-affirming (cliche, ew) moment of mine and anyone else's life, ever.
Oh yes, and in case you were wondering. My tattoo reads as such: 'You'll catch the flu or you'll catch the city...' Its a line from Essex Dogs aka my favourite song ever, about people from Essex and how there's only really two main paths they take in life. The flu - Essex4Life, born there, live there, die there; or the city - make your escape to the Big Smoke as soon you can. Its like a reminder that if I fuck this up I'll be catching the flu, cos there's no way in hell I can afford to stay in London. Oddly, since I got it done I've been getting better. There's been less twatting about and more trying to sort my life out. Apart from Monday night post-Blur when I ended up in hopsital, but that's another story for another time, as they say.
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