Sunday, 10 April 2011

Getting Nowhere: Part 2

"Anna. You have to wake him up." I said.

I knew I was being all tense and stressy but I have literally been looking forward to this night since we booked the tickets and now some random artist was about to fuck it all up for us. In the end Anna rang him and he said she could go in and use his printer. When she came out, I looked at the tickets and they didn't have a bar code on. I knew they weren't right and I think Anna did as well, but we just wanted to get out Dust Sheet Hell, out of the wasteland and onto to the metro, so we left our qualms unsaid and power-walked to the metro. I was uneasy. I don't know if it's left over Mind Messing from last weekend but at the moment I can feel this shadow on my my shoulders and as we walked through the deserted industrial estate on Friday night, I could feel it darkening my thoughts. We were going to miss the gig, I knew it.

Luckily Kat rang me to say she was going to be really late, so we arrived at the venue at the same time as her. The Danish girl was able to buy a ticket on the door and I was worried they'd be sold out, so that was one less thing to worry about. But then of course, we couldn't get in because we had the wrong FUCKING tickets. I was about to ring Georgie and ask her if there was any way she could get someone to put us on guestlist, because she had offered before she knew we'd bought tickets, but everyone on the door was really nice and someone got the bar code up on their I Phone for us. We got in, finally. The night had arrived.

They didn't start until 1am, so I felt a little foolish for my worrying, but it's better to panic a little bit about things unnecessarily rather than to not worry at all- that's when life says 'Ok Mrs Laid-Back, let's see how much everything can go to shit when you don't give one...'

I'm not going to discuss the music, seeing as I sometimes dance around my room to the alarm tone on my phone I don't think I really have the musical expertise, but I know y'all didn't come on here to read about music anyway. What you wanna know.- and when I say 'you' I mean Harriet and my mum, my only two readers, although mum I deleted you off Facebook for a reason, please, if you've found your way on to my blog again stop reading NOW don't say I didn't warn you, please, don't. Just don't. Stop. Now.- what you want to know is did I have another rendez-vous with You Know Who.


Towards the end of their set, I realised it was ridiculous to expect a repeat of last November because the venue was massive and it was a completely different gig, but Francesca the Dane was for some reason dead set on getting back stage. "Lift me up I'm going to jump on the stage!" she kept yelling. My only thought was: 'Please don't let me have anything to do with this.'

But then I realised what a miserable bitch I was being. The door to backstage was right next to us and I could see two English girls trying to wrangle their way in. The bouncer was arguing with them and had his back to the open door.

"Go now Francesca!" I said, pushing her through the door. Half a second later I found myself running up the stairs after her, with no memory of asking my legs to move. Kat was behind me and hot on her heels was the bouncer shouting 'Mademoiselle! MADEMOISEEEEEEELLE!'

For a moment I thought it was over. I almost gave up and turned round but we were at the top of the stairs right now and the backstage area was right in front of us. Did I actually think we were going to get backstage? To do what exactly? Steal peanuts and pretend to fit in? What Silly Girls I thought, we weren't going nowhere, but then I ran, literally banged, into the Dubstep DJ who I 'met' a few months back.

"Hey, you alright?" I breezed, smirking as the bouncer ran right past me because I was putting on a good show of Not Being A Gatecrasher.

It could have ended there. Any number of soul-crushingly embarrassing things could have happened but instead, the Dubstep DJ gave me, Kat and Francesca backstage wristbands and the bouncer reluctantly stomped back downstairs.

Once we were backstage, we just kind of sat there laughing to ourselves. The problem now was getting Anna in, but the Danish girl sweetly offered to go downstairs and give Anna her wristband. Before she did this though, Anna bounced in on her own, claiming some randomer had given her a wristband on the dance floor. But Francesca decided to go back to her hotel anyway, so we said good bye and Anna arranged to take her on a tour of Montmarte the following day.

There were a lot of people backstage, lots of English people and a few Americans, plus lots of alcohol. It wasn't a bad place to sit and wait for the first metro... I've decided that if the public transport ran earlier in Paris I wouldn't get myself into trouble.

I can't really remember how it came about, but one of the Dubstep DJs was talking to me and Anna about how their next gig was in Lyon and they suggested for a joke that we go with them (just for the craic you understand). I thought they were obviously having us on. Surely the last thing you need on tour is two strange girls drinking all the alcohol and gradually getting more and more unattractive as their make-up rubs off?

It was about half five at this point and everyone was leaving to wait for the tour bus. We followed everyone outside and waited. I still wasn't sure if they were joking or not, but even if they were being serious there was no way we could go to Lyon: I had no idea where it is; I had five euros in my purse; and I had made plans with about ten people for the Saturday, including Lauren and it was her last day in paris. We couldn’t actually go to lyon. But then… aren’t I always banging on about how you should put good times above everything else? To not be reckless and not go to Lyon would be going against everything I believe in…

Kat was having none of it, she had a flight to England the next day and although she wanted to come for the jokes she couldn't miss her flight. We tried to convince her- 'Think how funny it would be!' 'Think of the story you could tell!' But Kat was adamant and she was right to be- I suddenly realised how ridiculous it all was. We could go home now and I would still have something vaguely interesting to tell people, yet we wouldn’t wake up on the other side of France destitute and very hungover. And you can’t do the walk of shame in france. People look at you funny if you wear heels to a club at night time- there would be riots if me and Anna embarked upon a cross-country Walk of Shame in France.

Kat really had to get home. She only lives (lived, she's gone back to the UK forever now, along with all the teaching assistants, sob) twenty minutes away so we said our goodbyes and she left me and anna waiting on the kerb with the dubstep djs and their tech crew. I still hadn't really spoke to the Dubstep DJ I rendez-voused with in November and I didn't want him to think I was trying to be a groupie- I was just trying to add a bit of adventure to the weekend... I always get That Fear that I'm overstaying my welcome. ( I think it started in uni when one of our lad friends told me that they couldn’t get a girl to leave their flat after a party and I swore then and there to never be That Girl. Ever since then, I’ve baffled many people at house parties and gatherings by seeming to have a good time and then all of a sudden leaping up and saying ‘I’ll go now, BYE’ and running out into the night without any further farewells.)

So. Aside from my fear of beig a Seriously Bad Tag-Along, I kind of wanted to go to Lyon, even though I knew I shouldn't. Me and Anna kept saying to each other ‘It will be funny, it will be funny!’ But how funny is it really to wake up on the other side of France, with no way of getting home and with a bunch of people you don’t know. After the nightmare of getting to the venue earlier, did we really want to throw ourselves into this situation?

I thought I’d try and find out if it really was cool for us to hop on, so I said to November Dubstep DJ something like "We’re coming to Lyon so erm is that alright?’ He said ‘Yeah of course!’ and then he said something nice to me about my appearance and I couldn’t help but be a little more convinced despite myself. No matter how much I scoff at compliments and try and rise above that ridiculous girly ‘flattery will get you everywhere’ nonsense, I was actually flattered and it almost swayed me. Disgusting. I hate myself for it. It’s like when I go to the market and I always buy fruit and veg from this one stall even though their stuff isn't the best at the market, just because one day I was walking past talking to the five year old boy in English and one of the guys who works there called out: ‘Mademoiselle! You are very beautiful’ and I've never bought fruit and veg from anywhere else since- how embarassing for me.

Anyway, I kind of wanted to go to Lyon. But really… what were we thinking? We’d only wake up the next day, hungover, with a bunch of strangers on their tour bus, with no way of getting home and with not even a concealer between us to ease the pain of travelling across France in last night’s clothes and last night’s make-up.

But. 'Think of the Good Times', a little voice in the back of head told me, a voice that weirdly sounded a lot drunker than my actual voice, 'It will be fun...'

And apart from Fun what else is there in life?

The tour bus finally arrived. Everyone started loading up and getting on and me and Anna held on to each other.

Should we? Should we really?


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