Tory Boy phoned last night. Not to chat to his mother or tell her how much he loves and misses her and he should never have left home to go to university, leaving her bereft and jobless.
No, he called because he wants me to promote a music festival he’s helped organise. Fair enough: I’m a mother; doing as I’m told by my adult children is part of the job description.
When: TODAY from 12 to 9
Where: Lancaster University and bailriggfm.co.uk, so anyone can listen, anywhere in the world
What: MUSIC! LIVE BANDS! DJs!
The festival has been organised by Bailrigg fm, the student radio station at Lancaster University. It is the first time they have tried something like this and they are hoping to make it an annual event. The students have organised everything, including the food (done at the last minute by Tory Boy himself, so you know who to sue).
TB will be doing his DJ sets at 12 – 12.15 and 12.45 – 1, UK time, so please check him out if you happen to be online. Click here for an international clock.
Then report back to me: I can’t be doing with all that nasty, modern music.
When you’re feeling down, what music cheers you up?
Got a kid back – sending it off again – losing a kitchen – gaining a happy housewife – ditto bathroom – happy clean housewife – may not get to write much next few days – bear with me – kiss.
We haven’t had any music for a while, so here’s something mellow to set the tone for the weekend; you’ll know it when you hear it:
There’s not much to report today.
I suggested to the Hub that he might try acupuncture to relieve his pain and he asked me was I sure I didn’t mean voodoo?
I must try not to be nice to him; he’s so suspicious, I might get found out.
Have a great weekend!
I Don’t Recall
I never had a flirty day in Frodsham
with an owner of the red album.
I did not visit the Everyman;
never got free tickets;
could not have attended
the last-night cast party
or met the beautiful half-Greek
love child of a boxing legend.
I don’t recall a walk to school;
a white December day;
a shocked discussion;
a cute boy in a trendy coat.
No mad man.
no John Lennon.
The prompt was ‘Imagine’. I imagine many of the Islanders will immediately hear the Lennon song, just as I did. I thought about the funny ways music and musicians touch our lives though we never meet, and remembered moments from my own life that would not have happened if Lennon had never existed.
The visit to the Everyman in Liverpool was to see a play about Lennon’s life.
and I hope to get the t-shirt to prove it. I already have the music and I’d better get the dvd for Christmas or come December 26th I’m offering my whole family on Freecycle. Don’t stop believing it boys, because I mean it: what a girl wants, she better get.
I absolutely LOVE Glee (it won’t surprise you to learn that I also adored Fame in the Eighties). I thought Lea Michele singing Don’t Rain On My Parade was the best moment of the series – though Chris Colfer and the football team singing Single Ladies comes a close second – and I have hurt my eardrums by playing it over and over at full blast on my MP3 player.
I never saw the point of an MP3 player before the Glee albums, despite having one of the first to come out (though in those days it was known as a ‘Walkman’), but now I don’t go anywhere without it. Unfortunately, I can’t concentrate on anything with all that music blaring so I have to find something dull to do. This has led to me frightening the Hub, who is not used to me doing housework voluntarily, but I just take a bow and carry on.
I also spend a lot of time dancing with myself; I might look stupid, but it should even out the chocolate intake. And the Hub is so sweet: when I am ready to drop after all that dancing and cleaning – think Mr Myagi and ‘Wax on; wax off’ on dirty cupboard doors – he tells me, ‘I’ll stand by you; lean on me.’ And I tell him, ‘My life would suck without you.’
Who knew that a cheesy but incredibly fun tv series would reveal our endless love? It’s not a bad romance, really; even after twenty-eight years. Maybe it’s a man’s, man’s man’s world, but I’m a funny girl and he’s the one.
If you are wondering by this stage what I’m rambling on about, here’s something to help you; it might cast a little ray of light:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_songs_in_Glee
On Saturday I took Spud and Spud’s best friend to the art gallery to watch (hear, surely?) some live music. Not classical this time, but a mélange of styles from across the borough. Due to an unfortunate timing issue, we missed the beginning because Stockport County’s match had just finished. The ground, Edgeley Park, is just up the road from us.
When we arrived, there was a young band playing and the musicians were good, the boy wasn’t bad but the girl was flat with a capital flat. Then our old friend Paul Usher came on, he of the no nits. Paul (several of us from our writing class had promised to support him), the chance for two teens to experience live music and the fact that it was free are the reasons I went. I hope to be like my mother one day, who saw the Beatles at the Cavern before they were famous; Spud, his friend, my writing buddies and I can all say, ‘We saw Paul Usher at Stockport Art Gallery before he was famous.’ He’d better be famous because I’m tired of being let down by the boys’ school friends who form bands, let me watch them, then split up to go to university or work. P.U. was amazingly good; much better live than he sounds on the net, and his playing is fabulous. One of my writing buddies spoke truth when she said, ‘I wouldn’t want to be the act that follows him.’ As it turned out, nobody did. Want to be that act, that is. Spud and SBF were not impressed by the country & western duo who followed, though the woman was pretty good.
The best was yet to come, however. One of the gallery’s staff advised us to stick around and listen to the next band: ‘A lady who chants poetry to music.’ Hmm. You can’t whack a good poem, it’s true; but try listening to a woman in a Harry Potter cloak and her wild-eyed band mate – if I tell you he could look at the pictures on either side of the gallery at the same time, you’ll get my drift – read what was possibly good poetry but we couldn’t tell because all we could hear was ‘Mmffff ggghh hhhrret tttssd ddeeyy uhnx nmdjdhggfh’ from him and a wobbly, reedy, way flatter than the earlier girl, ‘Can’t get you outta my head’ from her, interposed after every fourth line of ‘Mmffff ggghh hhhrret tttssd ddeeyy uhnx nmdjdhggfh.’ The boys needed to leave immediately so they could laugh outside without choking. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for experiments in poetry and music and supporting local artistes, but the boys are in favour of breathing and they just couldn’t stifle their laughter any more. They will definitely remember the band, called Word Music, because they made up poems and interspersed them with increasingly hysterical ‘Can’t get you outta my heads’ all the way home.