The View from the Floor and the Terraces
I had quite an interesting weekend this week.
First, on Friday J and I went with my parents to a family wedding at the Corn Exchange (well, only the reception bit at night - the groom was insufficiently close family to warrant an invitation to the 'eating food someone else has paid for' element of festivities). It was OK although the beer was rubbish (Tennents Velvet, which is hit and miss at the best of times), necessitating an early switch to vodka. It was so bad in fact that my dad actually left half a pint at one point and then moped around the bar area for ten minutes quizzing the staff to make sure there wasn't some ale-based alternative hidden away amongst the beer fonts (sadly there wasn't, only various lagers which are beer in the same way that fish are bicycles).
Everything was going reasonably well until around midnight, when a run of 80s poptastic hits had me up on the dance floor for an extended period. I'm a terrible dancer and tend not to dance unless (a) completely drunk and The Smiths come on, (b) forced to by relations or (c) slightly tipsy and faced with songs I know all the words to. Given that the tracks that came on were 'Temptation' by Heaven 17, 'Relax' by Frankie and 'To Cut a Long Story Short' by Spandau Ballet, I could hardly resist and, in a flash, I was moving my feet in strict time to the drum-beat and singing 'You've got to make me an offer, that cannot be ignored' while J (who can dance) tried to shuffle away and pretend I was a friend of the bride's.
And I would have been fine, except that after those three songs, and whilst I was heading off the dance floor to the loo, 'House of Fun' by Madness came on. And the Madness step dance thing is the one bit of dance floor shenanigans I can do. So, absolutely knackered, I bounced about for one more song. I was feeling a bit dizzy at the end of the song, so I walked fairly slowly towards the toilets but even so had to stop at one point because of stars in front of my eyes.
Next thing I knew I was waking up on the floor with three guys shouting for an ambulance. It seems I had a common or garden drop in blood pressure caused by over exertion but it was all very embarassing especially since no-one seemed willing to believe I wasn't drunk (which I wasn't, honest) not to mention disconcerting since I have no memory at all between thinking 'I feel quite dizzy' and coming to at shoe level.
The fact that J has taken to talking about my 'fainting fits' rather than a more manly 'Stuart collapsed' isn't helping the ongoing red neck either.
That was Friday night. Saturday was nice and quiet, but on Sunday my dad and I took Cameron, recently turned seven years old, to his first live football game.
Hearts won 4-1 away to Livingston in a very enjoyable game to go five points clear at the top of the Premier League table, but I really couldn't care less - the fact that Cameron described the day as 'brilliant' and spent all Monday evening regaling his friends in our back garden with the tale of his trip was a genuinely moving thing (although had we lost it might have been a different story). I don't go to anywhere near as much football as I used to but I think I'll be going more regularly now I have Cameron to take.
Finally, any fans of great music who read this (so that'll be Scott and Geoff) should head over to dimeadozen.org and download the Troy Tate version of The Smiths first album. Seldom has it been more obvious that a bad producer can kill even the greatest of bands. Bizarre production, peculiar backing vocals and insane arrangements make this collection of early tracks a must-listen for any Smiths fan (plus it contains one song I'd never heard before).
First, on Friday J and I went with my parents to a family wedding at the Corn Exchange (well, only the reception bit at night - the groom was insufficiently close family to warrant an invitation to the 'eating food someone else has paid for' element of festivities). It was OK although the beer was rubbish (Tennents Velvet, which is hit and miss at the best of times), necessitating an early switch to vodka. It was so bad in fact that my dad actually left half a pint at one point and then moped around the bar area for ten minutes quizzing the staff to make sure there wasn't some ale-based alternative hidden away amongst the beer fonts (sadly there wasn't, only various lagers which are beer in the same way that fish are bicycles).
Everything was going reasonably well until around midnight, when a run of 80s poptastic hits had me up on the dance floor for an extended period. I'm a terrible dancer and tend not to dance unless (a) completely drunk and The Smiths come on, (b) forced to by relations or (c) slightly tipsy and faced with songs I know all the words to. Given that the tracks that came on were 'Temptation' by Heaven 17, 'Relax' by Frankie and 'To Cut a Long Story Short' by Spandau Ballet, I could hardly resist and, in a flash, I was moving my feet in strict time to the drum-beat and singing 'You've got to make me an offer, that cannot be ignored' while J (who can dance) tried to shuffle away and pretend I was a friend of the bride's.
And I would have been fine, except that after those three songs, and whilst I was heading off the dance floor to the loo, 'House of Fun' by Madness came on. And the Madness step dance thing is the one bit of dance floor shenanigans I can do. So, absolutely knackered, I bounced about for one more song. I was feeling a bit dizzy at the end of the song, so I walked fairly slowly towards the toilets but even so had to stop at one point because of stars in front of my eyes.
Next thing I knew I was waking up on the floor with three guys shouting for an ambulance. It seems I had a common or garden drop in blood pressure caused by over exertion but it was all very embarassing especially since no-one seemed willing to believe I wasn't drunk (which I wasn't, honest) not to mention disconcerting since I have no memory at all between thinking 'I feel quite dizzy' and coming to at shoe level.
The fact that J has taken to talking about my 'fainting fits' rather than a more manly 'Stuart collapsed' isn't helping the ongoing red neck either.
That was Friday night. Saturday was nice and quiet, but on Sunday my dad and I took Cameron, recently turned seven years old, to his first live football game.
Hearts won 4-1 away to Livingston in a very enjoyable game to go five points clear at the top of the Premier League table, but I really couldn't care less - the fact that Cameron described the day as 'brilliant' and spent all Monday evening regaling his friends in our back garden with the tale of his trip was a genuinely moving thing (although had we lost it might have been a different story). I don't go to anywhere near as much football as I used to but I think I'll be going more regularly now I have Cameron to take.Finally, any fans of great music who read this (so that'll be Scott and Geoff) should head over to dimeadozen.org and download the Troy Tate version of The Smiths first album. Seldom has it been more obvious that a bad producer can kill even the greatest of bands. Bizarre production, peculiar backing vocals and insane arrangements make this collection of early tracks a must-listen for any Smiths fan (plus it contains one song I'd never heard before).
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