The Seldom Seen Kid

I was kidnapped at half six on Thursday. We drove into town, heading towards the O2 Arena. He hadn't been there before, since it was renovated a few years ago. He asked halfway there if I had the tickets, then laughed at the idea that I would forget them. Needless to say, I told him about the time I forgot to bring some ID to a gig last year and had to get my brother to drive it in for me.

The original plan was the head into the O2 at eight, but we ended up getting there at around seven, maybe a bit later, finding our way to stage right and staying there for the night. I say staying there, we got drinks - Carlsberg, tasted like piss and alcohol the first time around - and after The Villagers had done their set, we moved along. The Villagers were actually really good! I hadn't really listened to them very much beforehand, despite my brother giving me a loan of one of their albums.

The announcement came: it was a totally no-smoking arena. There was some mild swearing, some agitation, and then he decided he needed to go to the toilet. We went the long way around - really we didn't know where we were going, but we'll just call it the scenic route past the girls' bathroom - and lo-and-behold, a smoking area! I've never seen someone look so happy to find a smoking area in my life. He'd been giving out that I didn't mention it was no-smoking in the arena before we went in. Well, not really giving out, more like complaining. This was something I should have checked before I left my house.

We got more Carlsberg - mainly because there were no spirits that I might have otherwise drank, even though I can't really stand Vodka - and yes, it tasted like piss, but I finished this one. The key was to drink it quicker, before it got warm. I then made the mistake of showing him I was done, but actually using sekrit-drink-code for "Want another round?" My bad! We waited a little bit - Elbow were already on stage at this point - and got the drinks as Neat Little Rows played.

There was a lot of "interactive audience bullshit" during the concert - that's what Guy Garvey called it - like raising hands in the air and singing along to With Love. That one was good: sing it like you're breathing in on "with" and breathing out on "love". Then get several thousand people to join in with you. Fantastic.

He began a series of love songs by asking was anyone in the audience in love. Some people put up their hands. Then, was there anyone in love with another person present, but that person didn't know! Naturally my friend - with only a little bit of alcohol in his system - turned to me, laughing, and shouted, "I love you Paul!" We drank to that, and kept laughing.

He'd dubbed some girls  near us as lesbians. I suppose if you wanted to interpret things like holding handbags for each other and one of them having very short hair and some hugging as lesbian actions, and if you had a little bit of alcohol in your system and no shame, you very easily could think they were lesbians. The joke was fun, anyway. It began with "Can you spot the lesbian?" and simply turned into "Look, lesbians." Good times.

On a more serious note, can all my female readers please tell that they don't spend the whole concert talking over the music? Because it's kind of annoying to everyone else there to hear a dozen women (they actually were women, mind) chatting away the entire time Elbow were on stage. And, you know, every other band. The only reason no one punches the talkers is because it's a bit disrespectful (and, you know, a slight overreaction to a bit of talking), but really everyone is hating the voice of the person who starts talking and doesn't stop.

Grounds For Divorce came on at one point. If you don't know, the lyrics begin with "Mondays is for drinking to the seldom seen kid." My friend turned to me, "I am the seldom seen kid!" Naturally, my response could only be, "I know! You bastard!" Good times.

When the gig ended - and it was all pretty awesome! - we went to the pub near God College. He went on the Guinness, I went on the rum and coke, and we started talking about just about everything that came to mind. The place was empty, which we didn't mind one bit; we could talk in peace, without the constant interruptions of friends. It was the first time it had ever just been the two of us and no one else in a pub, or anywhere, really, where it was actually possible to talk about things. Nobody in pubs cares what the strangers at the bar are talking about.

Obviously, I won't divulge all the topics we covered in our long discussions, but we shared a lot of stuff with each other that normally only really gets said at three in the morning when he's walking home from the pub and he calls me when I'm in bed, and in those cases I'm sober but tired, and he's drunk. In this case, in the pub, we were both getting a little bit drunk, and as a result of my climb the day before, I was very tired. So, midway of the conversation, I went to just put my head on the bar for like a second...

Nobody said things move quicker when you drink. I wasn't advised on all these little things about alcohol before I started drinking. It was my second time being drunk. So, I had a slight bar-to-head collision. You know I regretted it immediately.

Following a brief chat with a couple of the girls from college who were moving on to an over twenty-ones night club in town - which is why we didn't go, me being only twenty - we got to the stage of the night where we began to make promises with each other. Again, secrets. But they meant a lot to me, both the ones I made and the ones said to me.

Our talk continued outside the pub as we waited for someone to get home to let the seldom seen kid sleep in one of the beds in the house, by invitation of the owner, who wasn't presently in the county. He smoked, I wobbled (then sat down quickly), and while the conversations were quite serious, it was still some of the best fun I'd ever had. Dublin city is completely different at night when your drunk and with your best friend than when you're sober and alone; it seems less harsh than it can be, freer and wilder and the darkness is nothing but a backdrop as opposed to an all-consuming curtain pulled around the lonely street lights that barely taint the world orange.

I left at half three, as he and a few others attempted to get a key for the house - don't ask. We said our goodbyes, and not for the first time that night told each other that the night was only as good as it was because of the other person. I got into a taxi and headed home...

Normally, that's where my stories end, with me going home. And while the taxi ride was less than eventful, the night wasn't over. I got in the door, locked up, the works. I was drunk but I hadn't actually drank anything in an hour, so I was more coherent and less wobbly than I would have been if I'd gone straight home - which I almost did, except I decided to wait with him. I headed up the stairs and there she was - the mother. She asked me a few times if I was okay, if I was drunk - then she smelled the rum, and she knew the answer - and I kept wondering why she was asking if I was okay. I told her I was fine, had her go off to bed and went to brush my teeth - even drunk I don't forget. That's when I saw it - the mark on my head from when I'd had my bar-accident. I let out a laugh - more like a sigh, but happy - realised it wasn't sore unless I actually poked it, and even then I could only just feel it (it wasn't that big, either, thankfully) and went to bed.

I woke up hungry. I had a slight headache and realised it was half-eight - too little sleep. I got a drink of water, then my breakfast, and I was grand. I was still remembering things from the night this morning. It wasn't that the alcohol made me forget. I think it was more to do with the fact that the nine hours I'd spent with the seldom seen kid were all melting together, and it took some time for it all to spread out so I could remember all the secrets and all the promises and all the silly little things we talked about.

It was the best night out in my life. And I said that about my birthday, but this was so much better, because it wasn't a night where it's easy to believe it's all about you. This was a night I'd been looking forward to for months - I bought the tickets in October - and that I had been getting excited for for the past few weeks, and all my fears about him not being able to show up were washed away even before we drank. I got to see my best friend, talk about things that really mattered to both me and him; I got to see one of my favourite bands play live; I got to relax and enjoy myself without worrying about college the next day. It was a night with no bad consequences - I still don't think the bar-accident was bad, since it's something to laugh about now and laugh about then, and it doesn't hurt and it didn't impair. I don't think the night could have been better.

Scripted

Thursday night. Dublin City. The O2 Arena. The wind was cold, people were shouting, lots of people. About as soon as they got inside, the shouting became talking, conversations, and smiling, lots of smiling. Giddiness, too much of it, maybe, and rumours spreading through the growing audience by the minute.

The lights went down. Ryan Sheridan came on stage. He began playing. The conversations became cheering. Some people sang along to his music. Some people did not know all the words. Some people had not heard of it. Everyone thoroughly enjoyed it. Five songs later, he left the stage. The lights came back on. The stage was blacked out. Music began to play to stop people getting bored.

The lights came back on. It was nine. The Script walked on stage, one by one, beginning to play their music. Everyone cheered. Everyone sang along to every song. There was banter between music. Someone kept holding up a sign in front of everyone. Abuse was roared at her for blocking the view of the stage. The music kept playing. There were no mosh pits. There was no fighting, except for things being thrown at Sign Girl.

The music stopped. People cheered. People sang. The Script came back for an encore. Everyone sang along.

The music stopped one last time. The lights came back on. Sixteen thousand people poured into the night.

People talked. People who didn't know each other talked. Someone who was in her thirties got away with looking twenty five. She got guided along through Dublin by complete strangers, and together she and her friend got in a taxi on O'Connell Street, safe and sound.

Still no one can believe how much older she was than she actually looked.

The night ended. People slept.

Friday night. The cinema. The wind was cold. The wind was angry. Someone waited for his friends, who were running unusually late, but not so late they would miss the film. They bought student price tickets to see Unknown. They sat in the dark in a row of six - five of them, leaving a seat at the end. They talked. Loudly. The ads were playing. Everyone talked. Everyone laughed. Everyone smiled.

The ads stopped. The film began.

Everyone sat in silence. It wasn't the biggest screen in the cinema, but it was big enough. People tried to keep up with what was happening, trying to figure it out before the end. People got roped into it. Everyone enjoyed it. The credits began. The lights did not go back up. Someone said it was better than Taken. They were deemed wrong.

People went home. The night ended. People slept.

In Summary...

I may have been gone for a week... that was bold of me, I know, but there are always good reasons for my blunders. Okay, not for every day, but in general, I've been busy with something. So, in summary...

Thursday, Friday and Saturday were wasted on gaming. Really badly wasted. But from what I've told myself, that's the last of my gaming until... well, at least June. I'm putting myself on gaming probation until then, so that I can focus on my studies. Whether or not the probation continues is based on how well I can get into writing mode again. If I fail tremendously at that, I will allow myself a cooling-off period, then it's back to the books... editing and writing them, and reading many a book not related to my course.

Thursday was also choir day... that's allowed, right? You know what, I'm not asking. That's allowed. And Saturday was mass day. That's encouraged!

Sunday... well, Sunday began my nightmare: Coursework Journal for English. Due in on Friday. I have barely gotten anything done... I am well and truly screwed. You see, on Monday, I went to see How to Train Your Dragon, and last night I went to see OneRepublic live... tonight I was watching Glee... tomorrow I plan on watching Lost... though I might jus watch the episode recorded... but I also have a Poetry Night at the Gutter Bookshop to attend, and choir, again. Which means, in short, that I need to work my ass off: Tonight, getting things ready to be typed; tomorrow morning, typing up at least one movie, preferrably two; at lunch tomorrow, after a drama meeting; and as soon as I get home, until it is done, but not if that intrudes on time getting out for the aforementioned Poetry Night. If I don't get it done... tomorrow night will be busy!! And if it's still lacking just a little bit then... well, looks like I'll be up early on Friday morning typing it up, then rushing into the computer room in the morning to print it and submit it and swear my head off in rejoice that it's done.

I just realised I don't know what to do for a cover for it!!

Ahem... I'll just ask tomorrow. I'm sure our lecturer isn't so cruel that he would leave us to figure it out for ourselves... no wait, he might be. And he might do a song and dance about it too...

In other craziness, I seem to be acquiring ideas at a much faster rate than usual. I think this happens when I don't have time to actually use the ideas. Three things that inspired my ideas: "General Justice", "Materialistic Bishop" and one of my own tweets! I know, crazy. I remind myself of Walt Whitman now... only there's no way I'm posing naked for my own book! And I won't insist on multiple editions of it, just for the ego-feed!

Oh hey, you know what's fun.... I actually don't know. I typed that while reading a tweet (that didn't include those words) and I have no idea how to conclude that sentence. Someone conclude that sentence for me! There will be a prize of some sort for the best answer. I might write you into a story... or write a poem for you. Anything to procrastinate just a little bit more.

Days of lectures left: 7