Thursday night, I went to an imaginary gig. Justin Currie is an artist I've been looking forward to seeing live (and solo) for a good few years now. I'd see him with his former band (the criminally underrated) Del Amitri back in the days of wonder, but missed the tour for his first excellent solo album, so was eager to catch him touring its sequel. We got the tickets well in advance and I was all set to go.
But I didn't. I couldn't. Because of my worsening back. I can't stand still for more than a few minutes at a time without absolute agony. I can sit down fine, I can walk about OK... but standing still is impossible. Unfortunately, at venues like Manchester Academy, standing still is your only option. So I had to tell Dave to find someone else to go with him... I just couldn't stand it.
Instead, I went to an imaginary gig. I built a stage in the living room and imagined a misanthropic, curmudgeonly, archly-cynical songwriter was up there singing his bitter heart out (to help me visualise this, I put a mirror at the back of the stage). Then I got Louise to push past me on her way to the toilets or the bar every two minutes, to have loud conversation with her friends just behind the sofa, to film the whole gig on her phone, and to whistle shriekily after every song.
Then I sat back and listened to the new Justin Currie album, The Great War. It was almost like being there. And as close as I'm going to get to gigging until my back is mended...
Never mind, there's always album #3.
