Play
Hooray, hooray
I am in a terrific mood, because I just booked tickets to go and see The Decemberists at the Shepherd's Bush Empire next year. I am excited because not only are they utterly, utterly brilliant, but I am also somewhat in love with Colin Meloy. Look at him. What's not to love? (He's the one on the floor) 
He's also pretty hot in this video for their song 16 Military Wives. Loving the preppy look, Colin. Also, see here: 
Oh, my. Why are you looking at me like that, Mr Meloy? Are you thinking rude thoughts too? I think I must have a thing about men in glasses.
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Down the Rabbit hole... again
Along with Floatykatja, over the last few weeks I have been having an adventure at the National Theatre, orchestrated by the mysterious Rabbit. It reached its dramatic conclusion on Saturday night in a flurry of biscuits and temperamental radios and shadows and magic. It was brilliant, and bewildering, and quite, quite barmy. I went home feeling rather sad that the adventure was all over. Back to boring old reality. However... www.irabbit.org/selfassembly Oh my. It looks like adventure is back on the menu. Who's with me?
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Lines are now closed
After a deluge* of responses to the whole "do I go to the End Of The Road Festival" question, I have come to a decision. We're going. So I have booked the tickets and, in a moment of madness, also bought a new tent to replace Trilby's old one, which was all mildewed and stinky. And what a tent! 
Yes, it is covered in pictures of fish. Tremendous. Also excellent is the fact it was reduced from £100 to £50. Oh, how I love a bargain. * may be hyperbole
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Magnum force
I have a champagne hangover. That hasn't happened in a while. A friend of mine is the barman at Boujis, nightclub of choice for young royals* and braying West London types. His lovely girlfriend Laetitia had her birthday party there last night. As you can imagine, there was a lot of free alcohol. I can't remember what time they poured me into the cab. I know I fell asleep while eating toast, because the bed was full of crumbs this morning. And I'm pretty sure I was still drunk when I wobbled into work, half an hour late and still wearing last night's eyeliner. Ahhh. It's just like the old days. I'd feel nostalgic if it wasn't for the pain in my noggin. Incidentally, my mate the barman was mentioned recently in an article about Boujis in the Daily Mail (blee). They said he looked like a hobbit. It's true, he does. Specifically this hobbit: 
It's really quite uncanny. "Daily Mail in accurate reporting shock!" * apparently, Harry and Wills never have to pay for drinks. Also, they never, ever tip. Free for those who can afford it, etc. etc. etc.
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Ballot box
Is anybody else out there going to the End Of The Road Festival? Trilby and I are thinking of going, but it's at the beginning of September and I'm scared that it might be cold and rainy. And it would mean buying a new tent, as Trilby's has gone all mouldy. However, British Sea Power, Badly Drawn Boy, Guillemots and Jim Noir are all playing, so maybe a little rain wouldn't matter... Should I go? Help me decide, people of the Internet!
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Toodle pip
There's been nothing in the 'Play' section of this blog for a month - this because I am rehearsing for a play (the irony of the situation is not lost on me). However, this weekend the boy and I are being naughty little blighters and missing three rehearsals so we can jet off to Carcassonne for the wedding of the boy's best f. Naturally, a degree of attention has been paid to the outfits we intend to wear on this auspicious day. Trilby is to be bedecked in a white linen suit; I myself shall be togged out in an outfit that wouldn't look out of place on the Promenade des Anglais circa 1950. It's all going to be rather spiffing. On an unrelated note, I have been reading rather too much P.G. Wodehouse lately... Tinkerty-tonk.
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Twelve Reasons Why...
...tonight is going to rock out:
(1) My Life Story are re-uniting for a one-off gig at the Mean Fiddler.
(2) And I'm going.
(3) With my friend Claire, who knows how to have F-U-N.
(4) Trilby is over in Belfast, so I can stay out late late late and get drunk drunk drunk.
(5) And it's a Friday, so I won't have to work through my hangover tomorrow morning.
(6) The last time I saw MLS play was in 1999 at the Leadmill in Sheffield, with my friend Claire. It was a fucking brilliant night. And tonight is going to be better.
(7) I know all the lyrics to their songs and I am going to sing them until I go hoarse.
(8) And dance along like a mental.
(9) And scream at Jake Shillingford.
(10) And generally act like a teenager.
(11) And maybe fall asleep against a speaker at 2 a.m. like I did at the Leadmill all those years ago.
(12) Did I mention the part about getting really, really drunk?
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