Friday, June 11, 2010

Oh my baby

A day indoors save for a trip to the dry cleaners.

Rock and ye olde roll, refusing all invitations towards the Iveagh Gardens and Dicey Reilly's and whatever madness lies therein and thereunder.

There was the football, which served as a constant reminder of Jonny Greenwood's score for 'There Will Be Blood.' Y'know, the buzzards, swarming non-stop through the commentary of George Hamilton, Stephen Alkin and, over on the other side, Camp Football Pundit Mark Lawrenson. Vuvuzelas my hole.

Thank fuck for BBC Four and 'No Distance Left To Run,' a documentary about Blur's reunion tour last year. No World Cup hyperbollix here, just one of the best films about music this charming man has seen for aeons and ages.

It made me crave a job where I have to warm up first with my own rider, some fizzy pop and a couple of Crunchies, before an inevitable descent into breakdance and breakdown.

9 comments:

EmilyAM said...

Blur played The Point in 1996 or so. I went with a bunch of friends and, in the queue, one of them dropped her ticket.

It was winter and dark and we couldn't find the ticket. It must have blown away, we thought. So, being poor teenagers, we clubbed together enough money to buy her a ticket from a tout.

The girl's mother had bought the tickets with her credit card, so her surname was on all of our tickets. When she handed over the £££s to the man in the leather bomber jacket we realised something awful.

She had bought her own ticket back.

Tender was not the night.

Radge said...

Disastrophe!

1996, you say? I was probably still in my Wet Wet Wet phase.

McMuck and the Mystery of the Kuúgleflarg said...

The lovely Mrs McMuck surprised me last birthday (June 19 - there may be a pint or two at some stage in the near future) with a pair of tickets for Blur in Manchester.

What a night. What a gig.

Excuse the language, but flipping blooming heck.

And that brilliant documentary last night brought it all back.

Radge said...

Please, Mook, this is a family blog. Less of the potty mouth.

Andrew said...

Vuvuzelas my fucking hole. FIFA say they can't ban them because they're a traditional instrument, or some bollocks. They're plastic fucking horns, not harpsichords. Still, it beats the shit out of me why people have been calling into RTÉ to moan about it. Presumably they'd like to see Dunphy dispatched to Jo'burg on 'lads, shut the fuck up' duty.

Radge said...

Never underestimate the mass stupidity of the Irish people. A call a minute last night, did you see that? Goons.

They don't bother me that much, I've already adjusted. White noise. The only thing is that it gives a monotony to the atmosphere, you can barely hear a goal being celebrated. I don't like that.

Holemaster said...

Those buzzard things are almost as bad as people talking at gigs.

Holemaster said...

Have you every clicked on the wheelchair icon beside the word verification box? It's quite weird.

Radge said...

I don't have to go through the word verification stage, because I'm oh so very special. Didn't you know this?