31 August - funhouse

I thought it was going to be moderately good, you know, Iggy Pop and the Stooges doing Funhouse. I thought it’d be full of oldies – not the songs, the people. Kind of was but not just oldies. Predominantly male and totally white of course. A paean to the longevity of a body that has taken 40 years of r’n’r beatings and look at him? Healthy, full of energy, defiant, voice sharp. The rest of the band of course didn’t quite look good as Iggy. In fact they looked like daddies in a pub band but … they are the Stooges. I would hazard the following guess: if the drugs are top quality and you do a lot of strenuous exercise (Iggy’s on stage work out would kill a much younger person) you don’t have to die. I think more bands should adopt this concept. Who wants to go and see the Rolling Stones now, traipsing through a best of set at a hundred quid a ticket? But I’d sign up tomorrow if they did ‘Their Satanic Majesties’ in a place the size of the Apollo for say.. £25. What a night that would be.
Because I was with my lover Paul for whom Iggy is god, we went down the front and I moshed about for a while but not enough for my clothes to get thoroughly soaked like Paul’s who nearly made it on stage when Iggy invited an invasion. I was covered in beer, lovely, and came to rue the fact that in order to appear alluring to Paul, my own version of r’n’r clothes included brand new shiny oh super shiny patent leather high heels which got trampled to bits and my feet with them. I had taken the precaution of downing a pain killer so I wouldn’t feel shoe pain but I did! No jumping up and down for me. I had not thought about the earplugs though and couldn’t hear much for most of last night and this morning an ear is still muffled. Age for sure. Years ago I started to ruin my ears by practically embracing the speakers at countless concerts. I remember one by the Orb. Think I wanted to crawl inside the speakers even. Those were the days. Ear damage or not I distinctly remember loverboy saying for the first time unprompted ‘I love you Lisa’. I held back the ‘Please define. Love you or am in love with you ? – two very different things as we know. I should have nights like these more often or perhaps not, but the combination of drink and music followed by more drink, dual ipod listening – I recommend this to all my friends, one ipod, two earphones. You chose some music, then you let your lover chose his and it gets varied and interesting. At least until you find a folder called Miriam on his ipod and well, you don’t want to be doing it to Miriam’s music do you now? A brilliant idea was also to book our very own r’n’r hotel room after the show which led to a v. imaginative night and the best this year for sex content closely followed by another with Paul a couple of months back and a previous one during a w/e in s.w. Ireland.
Mmmmhhh I’ve just realised the enormity of this. If my best nights this year have been with him (he agreed was the same for him – no reason to flatter anyone at this point), if we get on great, if he thanks me for thinking of everything always and if I thank him for being pretty darn the best person I’ve met since last December, then what are we skirting around? I kind of know… and then I don’t understand what I know. It’s the leaps of faith neither of us thinks we can do anymore for a start. For my part I don’t think I have jumped in ... five years. Just can’t do it anymore. Not sure. And add to that the fact that we’d both run a mile if a more regular relationship would automatically forfeit nights like last night. Plus he likes sturm und drang and I don’t give good dramas. Always thought they’d be a waste of energy. Running away, screaming, banging doors, betrayals, there are 3 people in this marriage and all that, though am sure some people are suckers for the separations and reconciliations. Just as well he doesn’t live in London at the moment and I refuse to talk about anything unless it’s face to face. And when I have the opportunity I back down and just go for the hedonistic option. This morning the sun was shining as we skipped out me to work, him to the airport. Why ruin such a good thing?
Also, so much for me feeling smug staying out late – no Iggy aftershow party sadly but a drink elsewhere threw up the only writer whose book made me laugh in the last few years, Howard ‘Mr Nice’ Marks – one of our friends rang this morning at 12 and she still hadn’t gone home. And she’s older than me! Go girl. Then again last week she had a tummy upset at the Edinburgh Festival and missed out on two nights of revelries and I think she had to make up for lost time. In Edinburgh she managed a drink with Aidan Quinn. Swoon or what? I’m sure I’m not the only one that’s endured Legends of the Fall a few times for him rather than for Brad.