A New Day
I went to see Sigur Rós on Tuesday at the Civic Hall in Wolverhampton, with Fulla and Walt. It was tops, really effing good. As the Icelanders made strange and beautiful noises on stage, I realised that I always see 6 and a half foot blokes with 5 foot nothing girlfriends at gigs. Loads more than on the street. Where do they all come from? Is there a national society of tall fellas with short birds? And do they scour the UK for live music? And why do they always gather at the front of gigs so no-one else can see anything? Why do they always stand infront of me? There must be someone I can complain to. What gives Daily Mail readers the right to be offended at anything? Who do I moan to? Oh yeah, you dear readers. You.
We’ve had a lodger for the past couple of months. He wasn’t paying any rent, but I got used to him all the same. And I fear on Monday, I condemned him to almost certain death. In August a moth (or a butterfly not sure which, summat to do with antenna furriness apparently) came in and with scant regard to the legislations about sub-letting, perched himself on the wall above the stairs. Not wanting to make a mess of the wall by “integrating” him with a rolled up Admag, we left him there. He was obviously just resting for a couple of days. A kip grew into a deep sleep, which in turn grew into full on hibernation. Anyone who’s been a student will know all about this I guess. He woke up on Monday, possibly a result of the heating being on. His warm little brain must’ve thought spring had sprungeth and he found his way back downstairs fluttering about at the window. I duly let him free, as Merk got a bit scared (he promised he’d have done the same for me had a clown been clawing at the glass). As he flew away from his servitude my heart glowed, like those people in TV animal programs who nurse a chimp back to health and let it back into the wild. A feeling of loss, pride, hope and farewells all at once. He fluttered away with the hopes and expectations of another bountiful summer to come. But, no! I could see him shivering in the distance. That was the moment I realised the result of my actions, and the moment the poor moth realised it wasn’t actually May. Sometimes freedom comes at too heavy a price. Sorry buddy.
