And then it was over

I have waited a little while to write this as I am currently suffering from post-Pearl Jam depression. I cannot actually put into words the happiness I felt at finally getting to see my idols live in concert, and see them we did!


We got up on Tuesday 18th Aug at around 9am and I forced Tom to make us a packed lunch so that we wouldn't have to deviate from our main goal: getting to London in time to pick up our tickets and get in the queue for the fan club early entry. I would just like to say a public thank you now to Tom for absolutely humouring me and allowing me this indulgence, he was the best person to be with for those 7 1/2 hours of pure waiting. That's right people, we got to the front of the stage in the end after spending our time eating sandwiches and drinking coffee like nobody's business. By the time Gomez took to the stage I was practically hysterical with excitement and the desperate need to go to the loo. "You'll sweat it out eventually", those around me said. Little did I know.

I just need to take this moment to share with you our proximity to the stage and to the man in question, Eddie Vedder. It's taking a lot for me to not swear right now.


Look at him, just look. I cannot even speak about the moment he first stepped on stage. Oh alright, I can. It was absolutely, completely, utterly, achingly amazing. I nearly threw up on the 6ft 8 guy standing solidly in front of me as they opened with a favourite from their first album, Release.


At this point I realised we were in for a good night as the crowd went as mad as I was feeling. I won't bore you with the details of every song they played (although I actually could if you wanted me to) but instead will fill you in on how the evening panned out.


As soon as they finished playing Release the band started playing Animal. This song is quite lively and after the mesmerising Release it kick-started the crowd into a huge frenzy. So huge in fact that my feet didn't touch the ground as I was thrown around in the pit with such ferocity that I didn't know what had hit me. I later realised it was the fat dude behind me, who continued to ram his massive frame into me at every opportunity, his sole goal apparently being to get as close to Eddie as I was. Maybe he was hungry. This wouldn't have been so bad if we weren't also being forced by thousands of people behind into the unforgiving metal barrier as they desperately tried to get to the front too. And all this despite the band's blessed attempt to give us all a break by enchanting the crowd into taking 3 steps back. This mild reprieve was totally undone with the next song's introduction, at which point I lost Tom.

You would be forgiven at this stage for questioning my reasoning to get to the front in the first place, as the pain - and there was definitely pain - would surely not be worth it. But then you must understand that having only seen my favourite band once before in my life, I was not going to let any opportunity to be close up slip through my fingers. Anyway, I digress. After realising that I had lost Tom a tiny little panic started to well up inside me, as if just having him next to me somehow kept me safe from harm. I was also sweating so much that the little wee I needed earlier was now non-existent and my main priority was more of the ability to continue breathing. Catching Tom's eye as he drifted further away was my main priority over the next few songs and it became clear that enjoyment had suddenly moved down the agenda to be replaced by self-preservation.

After a few more 'fast paced' songs I realised things were unlikely to ease up, and having made a silent agreement to Tom I decided enough was enough. At the next break in the song I made my escape and bellowed, "Someone get me out, I wanna get out!". Amazingly the crowd parted and I was hauled over the barrier by some burly security men and escorted out, only to be handed over to another security dude who scribbled a black mark on my hand in marker pen for apparently 'crowd surfing'. At this time I started to wonder how the hell I would find Tom again when he magically appeared next to me, having had to actually crowd surf his way out to find me. Black marks for us both!

Looking down at myself as we went to grab a beer I was slightly disgusted to see that my entire clothing was so drenched in sweat (not just my own) that I looked like I had been swimming - not one dry patch on my t-shirt or denim skirt. Despite this I was once more able to listen to the songs and enjoy myself whole-heartedly as each one surpassed the last, my voice getting weaker with every scream and cheer, but my smile growing. After 3 hours of absolutely rocking out, the legends that are Pearl Jam finally ended on Yellow Ledbetter, with the house lights up. Bodies swaying and voices raised to the sky, I don't think I have been happier in my life. So much so that when it was all over I felt bereft, yet entirely satisfied. Such a long day but one that was entirely worth the effort, we carried our bruised and battered bodies home in a state of euphoria. I cannot wait to do it all over again, although that day may be a long way off.

And in an ode to one of my favourite songs, 'Footsteps', here is a photo of my almost healed tattoo; such big meaning in so a small phrase.

Tattoo or not tattoo?

So I didn't sell myself and I didn't go to the gig. I was sad because the reviews were all amazing (as expected Eddie Vedder may as well have been crowned king) but I have since given myself a kick up the arse and a reminder that I am going to see the mighty ones at the O2 next week. All is indeed not lost.

Anyway, since that angry time I have managed to cool off considerably and lose myself in some frantic socialising, wedding make-ups (there's nothing quite like making someone look gorgeous on their big day) and a couple of tattoos. When I say a couple that is cheating a little I suppose, although I wish I had cheated the pain, as I had one tattoo re-done on my wrist and a brand spanking new one on my foot. My Pearl Jam fervour and insistence has paid off a little I guess, as it brought to the forefront of my mind the lyrical genuis that EV - as he shall now be referred to - is. I have always wanted to have some lyrics written upon my body in some form, and after Tom wrote all over me in biro to find a suitable spot we decided on the edge of my right foot. Mulling over my favourite songs and trying to find something meaningful without being corny/lovey dovey/weird, was a far more difficult task than I had imagined but the answer soon came.

Before I reveal my chosen phrase, I thought I'd share with you some of the contenders I grappled with. Song lyrics can mean something to everyone and usually it is completely different depending on the person/mood, but there is no doubt that they are powerful statements that carry emotion on levels I cannot fathom creating. All of my choices were from Pearl Jam songs so that's all I'm going to share, but there are many many others that I could have used.

'I know someday you'll have a beautiful life, I know you'll be a star, in somebody else's sky but why can't it be mine?' - from Black. A beautiful song but I was hard pressed to fit that anywhere on my body.
'We were but stones, your light made us stars' - from Light Years. Again a gorgeous song and a big contender.
'I'll ride the wave where it takes me' - from Release. I think I might actually have this one day, but not yet.

My actual choice was not from a slow song at all in the end, but actually from Even Flow. I chose 'Thoughts arrive like butterflies...' and it looks beautiful. I know I've made the right choice because my mum didn't tut or shout, and had to admit she quite liked it. No mean feat!

Apologies to those non-PJ fans, I'll let go in a while, but we've still got the concert to talk about....

A view from frustration hill

I have had one of those weeks; in fact it has taken me this long to write about it as my frustration has literally known no bounds. Let's see if I can make it through the blog without seeing red and chewing my lips off.
First things first, Monday (we may as well do this in chronological order). I am a member of the Pearl Jam fan club and one of the reasons I continue to be a member is the 'almost guarantee' of finding out about new concerts/tours that they will be embarking on. Usually the fans find out first, and Monday was no exception. For a bit of background, the last time I saw PJ live was about 3 years ago, and I recently got tickets to see them at the O2 in August. This made me very happy and I laughed and clapped and danced. Then Monday happened. On Monday we were told that they would be doing another date in London. An 'intimate' gig, at the Shepherd's Bush Empire to be precise. All we had to do was register for tickets and the fan club would be drawing a lottery to see who would get tickets on Wednesday. So I enter the fan club draw.

Tuesday. HMV jump on this Pearl Jam loving bandwagon and offer the chance of pre-sale tickets to the SBE gig if you order their new album. No problem, think I. Once you order this you get a link to the pre-sale tickets, on Tuesday and Wednesday. WHICH DOESN'T WORK! Well, it does but you just can't get through. No matter though, there's always the fan club lottery.

Wednesday. I receive the fateful email from the 10 club explaining that my tickets were not chosen. The urge to break down into full on sobs is excruciatingly large and my mind whirrs and ticks as I start to breakdown my options. There is always...

Thursday. The general sale starts at 9am on the Ticketweb and HMV sites, so I get myself into work early to be online exactly when it begins. Fifteen minutes of watching a time bar move slowly across the screen and then the message "Perl Jam tickets are sold out". I actually scream, the spelling mistake a small stabbing knife in my back. So that was it, all over. My urge to swear at this point is beyond anything I have felt recently, worse than having my bag stolen with half my make-up kit in it.

Friday. My work away day and it's raining. Pouring actually, with lightning and thunder, and we are going to be doing 'team sports' in the afternoon. My joy knows no bounds. Now these things are always hilarious to the lower masses and a bit of a bore to the Partners and Directors, but I need a drinking session to drown my woes and throw myself mercilessly at the games despite wearing someone else's waterproofs. My enthusiasm pays off as our team wins the sports bit and we get three bottles of champagne. Nice! That, my friends, was the beginning of the end and the rest is a bit of a blur. What goes on tour stays on tour, as they say, so I won't be filling you in.
And no, I still don't have PJ tickets for Shepherd's Bush, and the prices on Ebay are so disgusting I may have to sell myself.

Back to the daily grind

So there it was, a week in the Peak District, a thoroughly lovely one at that. Did I take my entire wardrobe with me I hear you cry? In a word, no. Although I can't honestly say that I was too thrifty with my luggage either, particularly as I managed to come home with at least ten unworn items. Ah well.

It was a shaky start to the week as we managed to arrive in over five hours, not the three and a half we had hoped. However, the cottage was beautiful, surrounded by sheep, chickens, horses and cows. Pure country bliss. The bottle of red wine and free range eggs left for our consumption weren't bad either...

We managed two walks in all, as well as a day out at Alton Towers and trips to the lovely towns of Bakewell and Buxton. Tarts and water were consumed in copious amounts, but more tarts if we're being honest. That's where the walks came in handy - three miles the first day and six the other. Not bad for beginners I'd say!

Anyway, we are now back and I have received feedback for my first writing assignment, which has spurred me on to get cracking on my second. No time like the present. Off to see Harry Potter tonight (not in person you understand, but what a glorious fantasy), which I am thinly disguising to Tom as research for my writing. Needless to say he is not remotely convinced, nor keen, shame really.

To freedom and beyond

Welcome to my first post! No need for introductions, I'm getting straight in.

It has come to my attention that I am suffering from 'imminent holiday syndrome' - complete lack of concentration on anything other than our upcoming holiday. I find this happens to me a lot, although it differs from 'imminent holiday syndrome', to 'imminent whatever-happens-to-be-going-on-at-the-time syndrome'. It can be anything really; birthdays, weddings, nights out with the girls, hair appointments... I find myself consumed with details and unable to concentrate on anything else. This week, however, has topped all others. The reason? We are holidaying in England, the Peak District to be exact.

For those of you who don't know me, and I'll assume that is everybody for now, I don't do British holidays. Well, rarely anyway. The thing is, a holiday to me is sun, beach, swimming pool, eating and drinking, foreign languages etc. I understand baggage allowances, I know what you can and can't take on a plane in little bottles, I get airports, airport transfers, currency coversion, passport expiry, check in times and packing a week's worth of clothes into a suitcase that must weigh less than 25kg. These things make a holiday to me, it's the preparation and being in control that I thrive on, making lists and crossing tasks off. And yet I am thrown by this imposter of a holiday.

Now don't get me wrong, I cannot wait to get to this beautiful part of the world. I've done my research and am terribly excited about what we'll be getting up to. But it's the preparation that has wobbled me. There are simply no restrictions! We will be driving the four hour journey in my little Corsa, and staying in a lovely cottage with all the amenities you could ask for. I could literally take my entire wardrobe including 16 pairs of shoes, a picnic basket, a week's shopping, extra pillows, hair dryer and straighteners, my make-up kit... and there would still be ample room.

It is tempting to do all of this, but then would it really feel like a break? Or would it feel more like a house transplant; all of your belongings scattered around you but with a different front door? Part of what I love about holidays is the newness of your surroundings, the feeling of being away from it all. Could I really feel that if I had 18 different outfits to choose from every night and all of my luxuries at arms length? I'm not sure, so I have decided to treat this like any other holiday and only pack the essentials. Let's just hope the British weather doesn't let me down as 1 pair of trainers just might not cut it.

I'll keep you posted.