Divine Comedy

Sometimes you wonder whether a band you always loved will still be as good when you see them 20 years later.

Sometimes you shouldn't have worried.

Blissful voice, brilliant lyrics, bonkers costume changes, bizarre instruments, beautiful music. Plus extremely funny, but I can't think of word that means funny that begins with b.

The Divine Comedy were just wonderful on Saturday. Best gig in ages. Tragically I didn't get a photo of the admiral outfit.

Blimey the Foundry was hot though. Plus, I would like to see an enforced hat removal for audience members though because there was a point where a titfer made viewing a little tricky. Not Neil though, he can leave his hat on.

Things I cannot do comfortably today

1. Go upstairs
2. Go downstairs
3. Stand up from sitting
4. Sit down from standing.
5. Pick things up
6. Get back up from the floor if I fall over
7. Get in the bath
8. Get out of the bath.
9. Steer.

I did boot camp. It only cost £1. And my mobility.

Realisation

I know I bang on about feeling middle aged, but I just can't help it. It's hard to deny when all the evidence points one direction. And that's not a reference to the youthful floppy haired boy band that I hope I never have to see live.

On Friday Paul and I watched a film called 'This is 40'. We worryingly identified with the couple in it just a little too much. From the aged music referenced, the list making mania, the obsession for need for change and dreams of perfection, the bickering children and Ipad retreats it was funny and frankly unnerving.

It was as I rested back in bed, rosy from the sofa lounging and wine consumption that went along with watching the film (that's how rock and roll we are on a Friday night), that I reflected on the startling similarities portrayed in the film. If this moment was in a movie I would have sat up abruptly and looked at the self help book in my hand ("How to be a bit happier and get a bit more done") and shouted "Oh Shit" loudly.

As it was I sighed, turned the page and before long fell asleep with the book over my face.

The good news is we woke up the next morning and actually did get a bit more done. Paul chopped a tree down and I did lots of washing. Oh god.

Tramlines

I must admit I was worried about Tramlines a little. Worried that I was, frankly, too old.

The key indicator was that I hadn't heard of anyone on the list (apart from Selector, who are, well, from a long time ago). As for everyone else my knowledge of the bands was linked to band members I knew. Two dads from school and my boss, specifically. Which pretty much has an air of middle aged about it right there.

But I am nothing if not determined. You simply cannot have a music festival on your doorstep and not go to it. It would be like ignoring a cream cake for three days and eating celery.

So my friend and I took full advantage and set off at five on Saturday afternoon. This has a host of benefits, the best one being that we totally avoided making tea and putting the kids to bed.

We did what we normally do and wondered down division street feeling a) old and b) too sober for it all and decided, as usual, not to bother queuing for the main stage. We did buy a wristband though because we wanted to head to Plug later.

This is where our middled aged experience come into play. Vast local knowledge meant we could come back the long way round to find a cash point that had no queue and didn't charge us £1.85 for taking out our own money. We knew what fast food to go for (Street Food Chef of course) and plonked ourselves on the peace garden grass to eat burritos, listen to reggae and read the programme. I've always been a planner and it's only in later years that I realise just how much of an asset this can be (you have to love your personal quirks you know). My spontaneity left me years ago.

So we looked through the programme, reinforced the fact that we didn't know who anyone was*, and picked some random stuff that included people we knew and a variety of venues. We are nothing if not eclectic.

We started at the Cathedral and watched Nat Johnson (lovely) drinking wine, wondering if you can have communion real ale and watching a man repeatedly touch his girlfriend's bum. I don't think he would have done that in any other venue - I think he liked the buzz of sin in the house of the Lord.

Briefly we stopped at the Library Theatre and this is the point where I stopped really remembering the names of bands reliably. It's a good job this isn't a review.

After that it was the back of Henrys to watch The Clench (fab), and then the Leadmill to wholly enjoy a band who were amazing but who cannot pronounce their own name over a microphone clearly enough for marketing purposes (the staff had no idea who they were either). Then we watched some of the Ratells who were raucous and talented, but not my cup of tea really (and someone threw a drink on my badly chosen footwear).

Finally we ended up in Plug watching Steve Papa Edwards and the Big Strong Love, who we've seen before (and has someone I know in the band). They were marvellous and deserved a way bigger crowd.

We even managed to bag a taxi home with no difficulty whatsoever. All in all a remarkable, if middled aged, Tramlines experience. Which got even more middled aged the next day when as a family we went to Folk Forest at Endcliffe Park. But middle age has to be seen as a positive if it means you end up listening to folk music, helping your child make a bow and arrow, watching a blacksmith, talking to talented crafty type friends and eating ice cream.

I guess the thing that makes Tramlines such a joy is that everyone has such a different experience. Mine was a middle aged one. Had it been on ten years ago it would have been, well, a slightly younger middle aged one. In years to come I might just sit in Endcliffe Park drinking cider and wondering what band I've never heard of the girls are watching in town.

All in all we took in bands playing indie, rock (regular and cowboy no less), folk, soul and funk. And maybe other categories if I had a clue about modern music  - I could have been enjoying grime for all I know. So next year? Why not.


*I am exaggerating for effect of course, I have also heard of (and love) the Crookes. And David Roch. Yep that's it.

Open Letter to Sheffield Council

I'm writing this open letter because your email system seems to discourage people from actually writing letters saying how they feel. I can't think why.

There was a time, about a year ago, when I requested a bin. So before we go any further, is there any progress on my bin application please? No? I knew money was tight but this seems a little ridiculous. I could have made one for each week out of paper mache by now.

While we are on the subject of money, I'm wondering about the upcoming road improvement situation.

I noted with joy last week that someone had been down the adjoining road to ours with a can of yellow spray paint and circled some clearly hazardous small holes.

Imagine my expectation, then, as I turned into our road and saw no yellow paint at all. Did your spray can run out perhaps? Can you not afford another one? It must be that for I can see no discernable difference in the state of our road compared to the other.

Of course there is the fact that we are a small cul de sac off the end of that road. But no, it can't be that you think our road is not as important as the other one? Not when the road usage is pretty much the same what with the large number of black cab drivers, quite a few residents (including elderly ones), and frankly the fact that it's an ideal place for every man and his dog to turn round (I'm not blaming the dogs by the way).

It reminds me a little of that time when you spent weeks removing the paving slabs all the way down the adjoining residential road and replacing it with lovely smooth tarmac. Then you got to the end of our cul de sac and simply gave up. I presume tarmac was limited that day too. Perhaps you should think about getting a different supplier?

Hold on, I'm being a bit unfair. I remember now that you pulled up a couple of slabs and put down a few blobs of tarmac which had broken up and fallen off by six months later. There is nothing like making an effort. And that's nothing like making an effort.

I'll give you the benefit of the doubt though. I'm presuming you have every intention of fixing our road. You are simply planning to come back with another can of yellow paint when you can afford it. If you let me know how much it is I can enclose a cheque if it helps.

It is good to see, however, that you have some white paint available as evidenced by our new white lines at the end of little cul de sac road I live on. It does seem a bit odd that you have had someone paint them on when clearly you needed to come back and mend our road first, but perhaps logic isn't something applied to road mending.

All this aside, could I respectfully suggest that you encourage your line painter to go on a course or at the very least get his machine serviced. The lines are decidedly wobbly and there is a little bit of a splatter gun approach. But there is a recession on.

Anyway. I look forward to seeing some little yellow circles on our road very soon. And perhaps a new bin near the entrance to the school?

Yours sincerely
Middle aged and confused from Sheffield

Crapper

I went to the doctors today. I'm pretty candid on this blog but I'll keep the details to myself for a while yet. Sufficed to say it's just more evidence that as you get older your body gets crapper.

Just before my GP examined me (and told me I needed a specialist appointment and possibly a small operation) she hit herself in the face with a lamp. It was only missing cartoon birds doing circuits round her head. I showed appropriate concern as best I could in the circumstances but I secretly wondered if it was justice of some sort. That's a bit harsh isn't it?

I'm sure this situation will appear on my blog in the future. I can already see some inevitable comedy in it and that should help to squash the negative a little. For now though I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself. But it needs fixing so I have to be a grown up for once. Now if someone will just get me my teddy bear I should be fine...