I am sweetly weary. Pixies, Pixies. I am spoilt. From now on I wish to only attend gigs in settings where there are mature, tall trees that wave in the light and there is soft, sweet grass underfoot.
No more sweaty clubs for me.
Ubiquitous sighting of Glen Hansard Up The Front, check. Raucous, melodic, classic songs? Oh, oh. Such beauty, and fun.
I sighted a McKinney brother, but it was the wrong one, and when I made my way down to where I'd seen him, he was gone. This means nothing to anyone, but I am owed a hug... a Pixies gig isn't right without a Mark McKinney hug. I met a friend from school, and it was her birthday, and what a way to spend it. Oh, and her friend was there, who I know a tiny bit. She didn't remember me, but I asked after her newest baby, and turns out he's called Bodhi for real! Fabulousness. It seems that Wicklow is now ready.
I spent an hour up near the front, which was quite smokey, though some of that smoke was of the fragrant variety and came from the bowl of a little black pipe, so that was nice. The other, not so much. Two very tall men right in front of me? But of course.
A sweet, drunk girl with very curly hair danced and bounced, and at one point approached with arm outstretched and beseeching look on her face - it took me a second, but then I realised from her stroking motions that she wanted to touch my arm because I was wearing my fuzzy purple cardigan. Bodhi strokes me all the time, it's hard not to touch it. She was very cute.
I ate delicious chick pea curry with rice and raita. Excellent dining option. My stomach seems quite happy about it (I sadly often have an IBS sort of reaction when I eat out, but not this evening).
Middle aged people floated about with blissful, beatific smiles on their faces. A conservative looking, tall woman in her forties with a greying bob and two earrings in each ear stopped in front of us, saw her friend and waved while jumping up and down in delight. She was so happy, to be there, to see her friend, it brought tears to my eyes.
There were many shorn heads, and mighty beards, and everyone a bit scruffy and virtually nobody very young, except the golden, glowing 7 year old being held by his dad at the back of the field, both of the smiling joyously as I walked past. It was so beautiful. We're old and paunchy and oh, my hips and knees and I came home and put my feet in a pot of hot water and epsom salts (and I'm very glad I did, I must do it more often). But, fuck it. These magical people are still making sublime music, and we're still dancing, albeit wearily. I'm so grateful to them.
Axl is a bit sick, throat, headache - I knew he had Solpadeine Sinus in the car and suggested he take one. He did. Later I asked him, 'did the pill work?'
'Heh, yeah', he said. I responded and then he said, 'Oh, ha, I thought you were talking about him,' nodding across at a wild headed man with a pony tail who was dancing progressively foolishly.
My ears are not quite ringing, but they're ... vibrating a little. I'm so tired. It's time for sleep. Good night, all.