Year: 2018

Last Friday I had the great pleasure of going to see a man I hate. He was reading some of his essays.

It was wonderful but he makes me sick to my stomach whenever I read anything he’s written, but I’ve long made peace with my ongoing resentment towards him. Hate is such a strong word, as my Mother liked to remind me during my teenage ‘strop’ years, so perhaps I’ll tone this down a little and say I merely dislike him an awful, awful lot.

But no, let’s not tone this down. He wouldn’t, so why should I?

I hate David Sedaris.

If you aren’t aware of who he is then let me offer a description of the man. He is a slight, balding, bespectacled, man with a high octave voice, and the air of a lightly eccentric literature professor and, according to his own website, “With sardonic wit and incisive social critiques, David Sedaris has become one of America’s pre-eminent humor writers. The great skill with which he slices through cultural euphemisms and political correctness proves that Sedaris is a master of satire and one of the most observant writers addressing the human condition today.” (bio).

I can’t recall when I first had the misfortune to stumble across his work, nor what that piece was but since then I have read many articles and essays, listened to him talk on the radio, bought his books, and yet regardless of the medium he remains cuttingly funny and poignant all at the same time.

I do hate him so.

I’m such a huge fan.

When I found out he was coming to Glasgow I snapped up tickets the day they went on sale and we were not disappointed. Always forthright, hearing him talk about his brothers suicide brought a lump to my throat, yet never strays too far from humour and satire. And this is why I hate him. The way he balances his stories, the comic timing, the gentle misdirection and deliberate provoking of sentiment are expertly intertwined with some brutally dark humour and pinpoint observations that are so seated in our humanity that you are laughing before you realise it.

He is a ridiculously talented writer, less so a public speaker but as he tends to read his own essays that’s not so much of an issue but this is a minor detail. He is eloquent, funny, and that wry self-deprecating humour is exquisitely tuned, particularly to UK ears.

It was an absolute joy to hear him speak, a marvel to my ears as his finely honed word play washed over my ears. The talented bastard. I hate him.

The World Cup is over. Wimbledon is over. Someone is quite happy about this.

I am not.

I bloody love watching sport, me.

I usually put this down to my Dad being a P.E. teacher and I always enjoyed learning about various sports when they were on TV (usually the Olympics). Equally my Mum loved the cricket (back in the Beefy Botham days) and gold, mostly because they are both sports you don’t have to pay attention to so she could watch them whilst knitting.

It’s the learning I enjoy and as sports broadcasting improves, so does the level of information available.

Many years ago, Channel 4 had the rights to a season of the NFL. I’d never really watched it before and in the opening couple of shows they explained how the game works; what is a first down? what does 3 and 18 mean? And so on. And the more you learn the more you appreciate why the game works the way it does, how skilled the players are and how hard it is to achieve success.

Thankfully Le Tour is still on the go (rest day today mind you) and, again, the ITV coverage continues to be superb. David Millar offers insights as a previous Tour rider, explaining what is going on when it’s not always evident; the tactics, the team hierarchy, the psychology, the mental and physical fatigue and everything else that goes with it. It becomes utterly engrossing (watching an entire team in a sprint stage, leading out their main sprinter is a wonder of power and precision which usually comes at the end of 100+km of cycling).

More recently I’ve gotten into UFC. I’m not a big boxing fan but the mixed-martial arts approach of the UFC is intriguing. It’s not, for me, about watching someone beaten to a pulp, but the expertise, the speed and precision that some of the fighters have. A split second takes you from standing to the ground, a few seconds later you are ‘tapping out’ as your opponent has you in an arm bar. Again, hearing the co-commentators/pundits explain what is happening, whether it’s grappling or striking based, helps me understand the intricacies of timing and technique. UFC is not just two idiots beating the shit out of each other, honest.

But it’s basketball where my heart lies. Largely because I was above average at it at school, and because of a VHS tape my cousin gave me which featured a man called Magic who played with a smile on his face and made the game seem fun. I was barely into my teens and looking back now at what he achieved and how he played the game, now that I know a lot more about the basics, it’s all the more remarkable. Unfortunately a guy called Michael Jordan turned up and the Lakers fell away, then Shaq and Kobe did their thing for a few years and all was good. And now the current ‘greatest player’ has joined so I’m stupid excited for the next few years as a Lakers fan.

I don’t play any sport these days (stupid knees) and it’s something I’m trying to figure out a way to get back into. Ideally basketball, but I’m not sure where I’d find a team of middle-aged, not very fit, average-and-below level players who’d invite me along… I’m still looking though!

I do love me some sport.

As previously mentioned, one of my first vinyl LP experiences was the Queen album Jazz and though it wasn’t my first brush with the band it remains in my memory as the gateway to 30+ years of enjoying their music. Sure, it was probably the original Greatest Hits album that I heard first but as good as all those tracks are, it was Jazz that made me realise there was a lot more to this band.

I can remember where I was when Freddie died – in the car on the way to Hospital Radio Lennox – I can remember how it impacted me and how shocking it was. By then I owned all of their albums, and VHS tapes of every documentary and live show that had been released but the realisation that I’d never see them live weighed heavy. I mean, c’mon, YOU saw them at Live Aid, you saw him rise to the occasion and own the day, right?

With that in mind, it’s fair to say that I approached Friday evening with some trepidation. Yes, it was ACTUAL Brian May and Roger Taylor but was it still Queen?

First up, hats off to Adam Lambert. I have avoided Queen ‘live’ for many years now and whilst he is no Freddie, he is quick to acknowledge that and he has a fair old set of lungs on him as well (and is arguably more camp?!). It can’t be easy singing those songs night after night knowing that everyone is still thinking of Freddie so more power to him.

And those songs! They are so deeply ingrained in my memory I kept getting caught out when Adam didn’t match how Freddie sang them but ultimately, standing in the middle of Glasgow on a sunny evening with tens of thousands of other people belting out Somebody to Love brought me to joyful happy tears. Add in some ridiculous guitar solos, many many singalongs and as the closing gong from Bohemian Rhapsody rang out I headed off with a smile on my face.

All in Friday was a fun evening, Texas did their thing, I caught some of Gun’s set, and The Darkness were ridiculously rawk as always.

Saturday was my first Euro2018 Volunteer Training Day. I’ll be driving select individuals to their venues so it was mostly about routes and tracking software and the like. There was also the chance to drive the routes (which I knew most of anyway as I live here) and we even managed a sneaky visit to the Accreditation Centre and picked up our uniforms for the Games! It’s not as big a deal as the Commonwealth Games (which are the second largest sporting event in the world after the Olympics don’t ya know, and no the football World Cup isn’t even close) but I’m looking forward to being part of it for a couple of weeks.

Sunday and I headed back to TRNSMT. As I was there earlier it was a better chance to wander around, it’s a little smaller in terms of performance areas but as you can walk across the entire site in about 10mins I was baulking a little bit at some of the younger attendees claiming this was their first festival! Aye, go to the wettest Glastonbury, spend 2 hours slogging through mud to get from one side of the site to the other and THEN we can talk!

Friendly Fires were first up and played both tracks I know and were a pretty good mid-afternoon kinda band. Then it was time for two local bands, Franz Ferdinand were up first and are now definitely on the list of bands to see when they next tour; good tunes, good stage presence, and a good live act all round. Chvrches were next and to quote someone I overheard ‘for a wee lassie she’s got a fair set of lungs on her!’. Indeed, a great voice and some great tunes that had the crowd dancing.

And then it was time for The Killers and what a show they put on. I’m not a big fan so a couple of tracks weren’t that familiar but there is no doubting Brandon Flowers has stage presence and knows exactly how to manipulate a crowd, what a showman! Needless to say the biggest hits got the big cheers, add to that a cover of The Whole of the Moon by the Waterboys, an acoustic cover of Side by Travis (playing to the Scottish audience much?!), a guy called Tony getting called up on stage to drum for one of the songs and, from the opening ‘Hello Weegies’ welcome to the final hurrah of Mr. Brightside they kept everyone bouncing.

I’ll definitely keep an eye out for next years acts, the benefit of a city centre festival is getting home to your own bed each night, and whilst there was the usual share of drunken Glasgow bampots, I didn’t see any trouble at all as everyone was in such a good mood we were just laughing things off.

Needless to say I was pretty bust on Monday though but it does mean that I’m already on the countdown for Glastonbury tickets for next year, the festival buzz is back with a vengeance!

I have been and went to that London and it was good!

Mind you there was a small blip at first. I was primarily there to see the Foo Fighters perform at Wembley Stadium, so you can imagine my confusion when I realised, only a few days before heading down, that they were, in fact, performing at the Olympic Stadium. This rendered my ‘clever’ hotel location booking a bit redundant but that’s what I get for not checking the detail.

I’m calling this the ‘London effect’ as it’s not the first time I’ve gotten locations wrong …

A few years ago, I was down in London and on arriving at our hotel for the weekend I boldly marched up to the reception, stated my name and said I had a booking (does anyone else have that mild panic the minute you say that? what if you’ve screwed up?? Ahhh read on…). Blank looks ensued from behind the reception desk, my name was repeated back to me, and confirmed that yes, my name was McLean, but no, there is no booking with that name. I hurriedly retrieved my phone from the depths of a pocket to show that I did indeed have a booking, howverydareyou, and I was proven right! I did have a booking.. at one of the hotel chains other locations… Oops.

Oh well.

London is, as always, mind-boggingly big and awkward and messy and loud and diverse and a bit scary and wonderfully friendly, and continues to be all these things all at once. I love it. Even the touristy bits which I’ve seen plenty of have a certain appeal, and sure, maybe it didn’t matter where we were as the sun shone all weekend long, so sitting outside a pub in Shepherds Green was just the nicest way to spend a Thursday evening after getting the train down from Glasgow that afternoon.

Friday was Foo Fighters Day and we set out early to give us time to wander and enjoy the sunshine, walking from the hotel through the edge of Notting Hill, on towards Kensington Gardens then down into Hyde Park. It was all very lovely and very warm. From there we hopped on the Underground out to Stratford and located a small bar and sat there for a while before heading to the stadium.

Stadium gigs aren’t for everyone, but being part of 100,000 odd people dancing and singing and cheering to the same songs that you love is oddly uplifting and despite the volume of people I always come away from these things feeling more connected and positive via the joint experience, than in any way disconnected or de-personalised due to the sheer volume of people. It’s wonderful.

Also wonderful was bumping into the single other person who I knew was going, I mean what are the odds! (yeah yeah 100,000:1 I know).

The gig itself was every bit as rock n roll ridiculous as you might imagine, in the best possible way. I’m pretty sure the Foo Fighter amps all go to 11 and they are so unashamedly ‘hey we are doing a big rock stadium gig’ that it’s infectious… I mean an amazing 10 minute drum solo as the kit rises and rises up above the stage? C’MON!! They are virtually a parody of themselves but with enough of a knowing wink that it never feels false; this is not a band who take themselves seriously. They do, however, take their performances seriously and so, just over 2.30hrs later (and 15 mins beyond the curfew) we all bide our goodbyes and sang our way out of the stadium, the WHOAAAAA aaaaoooo chorus from Best of You on repeat.

Sidenote: Dave Grohl is a ridiculous man, as sweet as he is loud. Calling a good third of your audience assholes for not having attend a Foo Fighters gig before and GETTING AWAY WITH IT… can he do no wrong?

Needless to say Saturday rolled around in a bit of a haze – no YOU were drinking pints of Pimms – which is why we were lucky that we found a nice little bistro for brunch before setting off into the city to the hustle and bustle of Borough Market.

That afternoon I was lucky enough to catch up with some blogging friends for a few shandies. I think the last time I saw some of these lovely people was about six years ago (at yet another bloggers wedding), and in that lovely way that happens when you are in the company of ‘good people’, we all just picked up where we left off. Of course social media helps, but it was so lovely to spend time with them. Maybe an old skool bloggers meet up is overdue?

Another hazy start on Sunday (perhaps there were a few too many shandies?) and some time to myself found me wandering once more through the parks in the sunshine, pausing to meditate under a tree, then getting caught up in a massive Hari Krishna parade, before finding my way to the South Bank to spend the day with a lovely friend of mine.

We spent the day hiding from the crowds and the baking hot sunshine in the Hayward Gallery (the Lee Bul exhibition is well worth a look), and then exploring the new ‘wing’ of the Tate Modern which is vast and as always full of the usual mix of installations and art (the most impactful was a timelapse video from Suzanne Lacy – The Crystal Quilt).

The day was rounded off with more beer, even more great company (including a surprise visit which only added to the joy of the weekend), and the last underground train back to the hotel.

I must not leave it so long again. I spent most of the weekend with a smile on my face (for many different reasons) and as we travelled back to Glasgow, little memories kept floating into my head and I’d start smiling all over again. More blessings to be counted.

At one point during the weekend the topic of having a ‘tribe’ came up, and my weekend in London was a perfect example of this. When I first started blogging I had no sense of where it might lead. We were a small band, and on my first visit to London I tentatively suggested meeting up with some of them. It was a nervous wait but as more and more people turned up (15-20 of us) the more I relaxed I became because these were, in various little ways, all ‘my people’ in one form or another.

Fair to say that my weekend was full of highlights and wonderful new memories (even a hotel room that barely dipped below about 28C all weekend no matter what we tried had no impact on my mood). From the Foo Fighters, to friends, to lots of fun, I’m only really writing this post so that I don’t forget any of them.

And yes, I’m already making plans to go back again.