Moto Perpetuo

I'm good at moaning. You know, it's a major strength, being able to poke and pick at my current situation and only see the worst. Like right now. In truth, I'm pretty comfortable, full of food that tasted delicious and 'relaxing' in front of the television. Although I never relax, it's endemic to...well, me. There's no such thing as casual Peb really, he's just a fabrication. Anyway. Moaning.

You'll notice that I spend almost all my time here moaning. I do it consistently, because I do it so well. Practise makes perfect, natch. What am I going to moan about today? Graduation? That'll do.

What is there to be unhappy about with Grad? First things first, it's the end of an era. This is the last time that almost all of us from the School of Music at the University of East Anglia who started in the September of 2008 will be together again. We had one who quit in the first week, one who had time out to have her baby and will subsequently return on the part-time course, and one who didn't qualify. But the rest? 2:30pm at Congregation Hall, 22nd of July 2011, together for the last time. It's the end of an era, the last time I'm guarenteed to be in Norwich. I've made my promises to who I hope turn out to be the right people, that I'll be back, but when that'll be is anyone's guess! Fare's expensive from the deep south, and I'll have to seriously book ahead, even with a railcard. Maybe I'm here to moan about the train fare. Not today, friend. Maybe another time. No, the distance is manageable and the fare is...well, it'll get me where I want to go, but other than that it isn't worth it, obviously. I rather like the train, actually. It isn't really that problematic, nice and quiet, nobody really bothers you, but it's the cost really.

Anyway. Grad. I have made plans. These plans are different to the plans laid on by the union. OH GOD I'M BOYCOTTING THE UNION. No I'm not, get over yourself. I said a very involved and emotional goodbye to the LCR on the last Tuesday of last Term. It ended at 5am, when I was driven back home by Kamei-san, after stopping off to fetch his camera. There is accordingly one picture from that night, on that very camera, funnily enough, where I look appropriately drunk, sporting my experimental chin warmer. I'm pretty attached to my beard, but not more so that it's attached to me. I need to give it a trim in time for the festivities to tidy up, but in light of my recent shearing it might be starting to suit me.

And pray, what are my plans? What do you think? Take a guess. Table for 8 at 9pm, The Spice Lounge, Norwich. Meeting at the Playhouse Bar at 7pm, and then onwards into the night afterwards. I think Vodka Revolutions, for copious amounts of shots, then a spell at Knowhere, and then to the inevitable location of damnation, Havan Bar and Lounge. Yes, the motto of my University is "Do Different", for all it's worth, and I'm doing everything the same as I ever have. I'm nothing if not consisetent, and therefore without it I am nothing. While I may claim from time to time to be a nobody, I am not a nothing. Sorry, got more self-esteem than that, but only just.

I am a little worried about the evening's entertainment. At the moment it feels like a bit of a knife edge, but that be exacerbated by my existing stress. I don't want any trouble, but I can't go anywhere without inviting it upon myself. There are 8 of us for the meal, and then who knows what'll quite happen afterwards. We'll see. But I will say this: I don't burn bridges.

And domestics? Still no job. No money. Not very much to go on. But...you know the drill. Keep going. There is no other option.

Drunk again

Tonight was the last time I go out before my dissertation and project are finished.

I didn't even really mean to drink much! I'd gone to a J.D. Wetherspoons establishment for lunch after the Chamber choir concert (which thankfully went a lot better than the night previous), which included a pint of the black (I asked for that at the union on Paddy's and they didn't understand me). I've eaten quite a bit, so I thought it's be ok. Turns out it hit me a little harder than usual, but it was probably the stress.

So anyway, fast forward. I stuck with my excellent friend Kamei-san (Kamei-senpai, Sensei &c) after choir tonight and rode to the Schoolhouse on Earlham. We stayed for a small tincture, and then travelled to town, complete with the manager (or indeed the owner [perhaps both]) of Knowhere. I went to the Playhouse Bar for my usual pint of Kostritzer, because that's how I roll. It's great stuff. Anyway.

Before this had happened, I had rang my Lead for my Barbershop to find out his location, seeing as it was his birthday! Although like a damn fool I missed it. He was going home as I rang him. Tush and Tcham!

My next move after the Playhouse was to go home. I thought that one was more than enough, and it was time to go home. What happens? I pole up to the bus stop and before I get there it sails past me. Right. I decide to plunge back to a drink, as this is the only logical course of action...right? Yeah, right.

Somehow, I manage to get into the NUCA SU bar. For the unfamiliar, that means the Norwich University College of Arts Student Union bar. It's a really nice place! Very affordable, much more so than the UEA SU, a great building and a pretty good atmosphere. I stayed for two bottles of Asahi, the premium Japanese black beer. Delicious. I got a taxi home because guess what? I left my buss pass on my desk! What an idiot! I was cursing under my breath the whole taxi journey home. Thankfully, I found it straight away. Oy! What a fool.

Spamming wasn't too bad tonight. A fair bit of banter, and the Demon reared his head to deal with the Director. I may not be in the best of voice at the moment, but the unholy half of my person is fighting back. You have the right to kill me, but you do not have the right to judge me. And I ain't going down without a fight. I wear my toothed bracelet every day now, and it reminds me to bite back.

In lady news, that girl at choir is just as nice as ever, with her felicitous dress and delightful perfume...but I can't get her out of my mind. I'm coming up against all sorts of difficulties (there's someone else interested and my continual lack of spine) but even the firey spirit of chaos within will not move on. Obviously she is not a regret. Tomorrow, it could be her. The ultimate problem is that I do not know how to be successful anymore, having gone through somewhat of a dry spell and a regression as far as my social skills are concerned. Oh well. It'll work out. I have asked for some preternatural help with her, I don't think that's outside of my remit. It's time I had a chance, in all honesty.

And the kicker ending? I'm going home. 11th-15th April. After the dissertation. Fuck it all, I will need to go back and let the tension break. I deserve it, and I owe it to myself. Hence the £7 ticket. OH YEAH. The Captain's coming home.

STREETLIGHT MANIFESTO

That's right.  It actually happened in this lifetime.  I went to see Streetlight Manifesto LIVE and certainly very kicking in the back room of The Old Bell Hotel, in DERBADOS!  OH MY GOD.

Ok, so, calling in for a cheeky one at the Sleaper* for a quick Pedi**, I went with Il Dottore himself to The Old Bell, now a well known 'rocker' establishment and Gig venue.  Doors at 8:30, £15 advance tickets.  Ouch?  Maybe a little but certainly worth it.  I should think that at £15 it was a snip!  Once in the back room, we observed many things: 

1) Tattoos are awesome

2) Drinks are expensive

3) They really are a white man's band

Ten minutes later the first supporting act came on, the James Warner Prophecies.  having never heard of them before, I was naturally a little skeptical, but that was swiftly blown away in waves of awesomeness, Derby banter, Drop D tuning and basically great tunes.  The set was tight and to be perfectly honest could have gone on for a few songs more, but surely this is the sign of a perfect support act?  They were headlining on the 3rd, but I couldn't get to it!  Gutted.  But I did buy their latest EP at the show, and engaged in lively conversation with their front man (handshake secured!) about all sorts of music and whatnot!  They are pretty much awesome guys!

Next up after a short quarter of an hour were RANDOM HAND.  That's right, RANDOM HAND.  What a bunch of nutcases.  Drums, Guitar, Bass, Vox and...Trombone?  You look at it and go "Eh?" and then remember that they're a Ska Punk/Punk/Hardcore Band, and then go "eh?" again and then what the even hell just go see them, they're INSANE.  They got a Wall of Death*** started with only 100 people.  It was crazy.  Standout banter moment was when their lead Vox/Trmb. suddenly noticed that the taping on the mic wire just happened to be an accurate portrayal of the Polish flag!  Who knew?  I first saw them when they were supporting Reel Big Fish in 2009 at UEA.  They are also pretty much awesome...if you like it like that.

It was during RH's set that my companion noticed that there was an orange on the floor.  That's right.  An actual orange.  Those who received the text were confused to say the least, but true story bro.  It was really there.  

On to the main event.  What we were all there for.  Like all of us.  Literally everyone.  At this point my memory tells me only a few things: I had to sit on a wooden bar and dance from the waist up because I had hurt myself that much already; Water is good; My Brother is a folk tale.  That last one makes sense, trust me.  Oh my Christ they are SO much better live...I mean, most bands are, especially Ska bands.  Ska is a live sport, evidenced fortuitously by Dance Craze, a film all about the 2-Tone scene that included loads of footage of the big names of the time live, and also had a companion LP, which I picked up in an Oxfam for like, a quid fifty?  Genius.  

There was one moment where the entire room held its breath.  One tiny island of silence in the maelstrom and miniature mosh pit that had reformed after Random Hand's concussive performance.  What could this be?  Seconds later, this happened...

I got a gun in my hand but the gun won't cock, my finger's on the trigger but the trigger seems locked.  I can't stop staring at the tick tock clock, and even if I could I would never give up.

With a vest on my chest, a bullet in my lung, I can't believe I'm dying with my song unsung; and if and when I die won't you bury me alone, 'cos I'll never get to heaven if I'm singing this song...

And at that point the entire place explodes.  And I mean seriously.  Everybody knows the words, everybody knows the timing, everybody knows when the horns stop and start and everybody moves as one.  You ever felt that feeling, for one brief second of belonging?  Check.  I can't remember all the songs in the set list now, but I can remember how much pain I was in the next day.  I spent an entire 36 hours laid up basically.  Told you I was crippled!  You know what?  It was worth it.  I don't care that I fell down every time I got up.  I bruised my feet, pulled my calves and rendered the ligaments in my ankles completely useless for the chance to see and sing and dance to my favourite band.  Worth it.

Nathan came to meet us just at the end.  He just came in and looked for the whirlwind.  Ask him!  Anyway, he stuck around and got pint after pint of water for us and got us to the taxi rank.  What happened next propels my brother into legend as far as I'm concerned.  Knowing a lot of people that run pubs and clubs in Derby is no bad thing.  Basically, with a few well placed questions and a holy mission, he got to meet the band.  WHAT.  Yep, while I was being whisked home by a bright yellow taxi (Pikachu yellow?), he met the band.  And then he got their autographs for me.  AAAAAAHHH!!!  The menu they all scribbled on is safe and sound in a pocket, and then possibly to be framed.  WOOP WOOP.

So.  Conclusion?  Best thing ever.  Bar none.  All the concerts and operas and recitals in the world that I have done and will do will never ever come close.  Sorry, but that's the way it goes.  Even though I will ever be a Songman, I know where my heart lies, and that's not a lie.   I'm certainly getting branded (inked), but probably not pierced.  The Bishop almost threw a fit when I said to him straight faced that I was getting branded, and saying it out loud the other night at HQ certainly garnered some welcome attention, so I just have to decide what I want and how it'll go.  I've got a lot of blank canvas on my back, so we might as well get a lot of coverage.  We'll just have to see.

So.  Streetlight Manifesto.  Live.  In Derby.  Almost too good to be true.  I did miss Big D and the Kids Table though, and I sure love those guys too.  Given the choice I would always go Streetlight though.  OH MY GOD IT WAS LITERALLY THE BEST THING EVER!

* The Thomas Leaper, a Wetherspoons on Irongate (A6)

**Pedigree, a fine English Ale brewed by Marston's of Burton

***A circular mosh pit in which persons involved are flung around the edge by other members of the outlying crowd