My phone is making a noise similar to that of those spitty dinosaurs from Jurassic park. You know the one's. Those horrible ones, that spit everywhere. Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that I'm fairly unhappy about the noise coming from my phone. Turns out, it's the voice of my brother.... and I phoned him.
"Alright gay? How's Vintage? More importantly, how's the celibacy?" my brother has always had a way with words.
In answer to his questions, Vintage is quite simply incredible. Actually incredible. I think we all expected big things, but there genuinely is nothing like it anywhere in the world. Celibacy.... Well, yesterday was a struggle, but that was anticipated. It turns out, I'm pretty good at this whole thing. I've definitely woken up with a girl this morning, but I also definitely sat up until gone 6am talking about Josh Hartnett and his stupid films.
Anyway....Josh Hartnett can fuck off, Vintage however, is here to stay. It's a visual triumph, a feast on the ears, everything about it is wonderful.
Other than a spot of light drizzle around 4pm the day went swimmingly. A good crowd of us took a step back from everything to watch Sandie Shaw presenting a ream of female singers who belted out song after song. The sun was coming down, one of those orange tinges to the sky. I glanced over at Wayne to see his arms lovingly wrapped around Gerardine, Jack had his arms lovingly wrapped around Sarah, Tilly, Corey, everyone smiling with extreme pride - I was close to welling up. It's magic. I cannot congratulate the Hemingways enough.
The Warehouse...... This is where the wheels fall off. A Guy Called Gerald doing a 4 hour rave set, followed by Danny Rampling.... You immediately know that the lasers are spelling out T.R.O.U.B.L.E. I was right. We were not in a good way. What you need at this point is more Worthington's, to run out of cigarettes, and some weird legal speed that's for narcoleptics.... The young lady to my left, she's got narcolepsy. She's run out of her pills though.
We danced, really really danced. We drank, and, well I don't want to think about anything else. It was definitely time to go home when Pendle was licking one side of my face whilst Greg was licking the other, and Stu was holding on to things that shouldn't be standing up like that.... at least not after that much ale. Time for our taxi, time to get into bed get some proper sleep, and start it all over again tomorrow.
What actually happened was completely different. After the best part of 20 hours drinking, no food, and limited sleep, what was required was more drink, no food, and something else to drink. I remember (albeit vaguely) pouring myself a Vodka and vodka, with a vodka top, at some point approaching 5am this morning.That was a fucking stupid idea, I still can't quite feel my face.
Somehow, despite this, and the fact it's only Saturday I'm probably in the better shape out of everyone. Pendle came and got into bed about an hour ago to explain that he had "3 hours to do a 4 hour drive" good luck with that. At least he's not still pissed. Emily somehow got up and left before 8am (sterling effort) to go to Manchester for a hen do. Jane is off to work (chin up.) It's Greg's house which we've started to pull apart, and Ferg only got in 25 minutes ago.... I'm in the best way! As long as you ignore the inconvenient erection, swollen tongue, and the incessant buzzing just behind my eyes.
It really is time to get going. I need to cook breakfast, and get ready for that 'Saturday at a festival feeling' (I'm so glad we didn't camp) our taxi leaves in 6 minutes... I don't think I'm going to be in that.
Andy Weatherall tonight, at least it's easing up a bit.
Probably just time for a quick nap, and a pint of Tetleys.
