Quite a while back, an old friend of mine from the Jersey shores of the USA got in touch.
“My girl crush, Clare Grogan from Altered Images, is playing in your town. I bought two tickets on a whim if you’re up for tagging along?”
“I could be happy, tagging along to that,” I said.
On a simple Monday night, the hardcore of middle England rode into the great city. The weather was mild with a pleasant breeze and the night was young.
I met Mr O and took him to a pretty cool pub that is known for real ales and pub fodder. He said he wanted something that represented the city but I didn’t think 12 pints, 4 baby Guinness’ and a kebab would be a good idea but because it was a Monday night, some of the finer establishments weren’t open.
Pubs, always. Of course.
Pub food = British staple. Winner, winner. Fothergill’s dinner.
He opted for a pint of cider, steak and ale pie, chips and gravy. I felt proud.
I forgot how funny it was to hang out with an American and see the things that do their head in. Like gravy, or brown gravy as they call it. Or looking at me gone out when I talked too fast about non-sensical British things.
I introduced Mr O to Robin Hood and told him he had to get up on the stand with him and shoot his golden arrow,
“Are you sure I’m allowed to do that, Jules?”
“Yeah, course you are. You can do what you like here,” I said with my fingers crossed behind my back.
I then took him to Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, the oldest inn in England, where the crusaders set off from. Way back in 1189 AD, a bit before America was founded.
Mr O adapted to being man in tights with ease. You’ll find many an American has a secret hankering for this get up. We rely on it for our entertainment.
He said he’d recently watched the film The Death of Robin Hood and thought how good it was. I thought that perhaps he was still high on the legend of the green man and felt he could easily take his place in this weird little town.
But never mind the Death of Robin Hood when the night was really about Dead Pop Stars!
After filling bellies, cosplay fun, and a few too many, it was time to go to the venue where the idol could be met. Mr O wasn’t alone; a fair few people clearly had a bit of a thing for Clare Grogan and they stood waiting and longing for a post-punk, new wave hit.
When she arrived on stage she was wearing dark glasses. I wondered if she’d been necking a few at the bar and we hadn’t noticed. But after a few tracks she removed them and we could See Those Eyes! The atmosphere was fabulous- like a Happy Birthday balloon had popped above us all.
To be fair, she was still very pretty, a bit bonkers, and a lot of fun. I really enjoyed myself and it had nothing to do with the lots of gin and tonic’s I had.
What a wonderful night with fabulous company. Thank you, Mr O!
I was told that there was a big mirror the ladies loo where girls take their selfies on drunken nights out. I had to give it a go for old times sake. As you can see I remained classily elegant with no wine stains, torn up stilettos, blood, dribble, or scars.
Let’s call that growth.
The next day, Mr O left for Barcelona. Can’t say I blame him, it’s 32 degrees C there and here we are cooling off to a nice 21. I gave him a lift to the airport in my big-white-jacked-up-truck just to keep him in touch with his roots. In fact, the first thing he asked me when we first met up was where my cowboy hat was!
Maybe it’s time that had a dusting off…
You're sportin' some cool high tops, Ms. Julesy.
You didn't enter the moshpit to -- mosh, or whatever happens in the moshpit, stays there, unless it's communicable. The selfie looks like you, and since you took it yourself, it should.