Superstating

Have you seen P.S. I love you? I (unfortunately) have.
I loved the book, read it in two languages, about 50 times and cried a little bit every time.
We went to the cinema (a good while ago now) and Himself packed his pockets full of tissues (for me, not him).
In we went and--- NOT ONE TEAR!
Instead I felt cheated; The movie didn't have much to do with the book. The location had been changed, the characters were as deep as a puddle on the pavement and your man couldn't do an Irish accent (and him being Scottish and all...)
The thing I found really funny, though, was the way they showed Ireland as countryside, green hills and not a town in sight. I was actually expecting a leprechaun to pop up and do a jig.
Anyway. There was a pub in the movie called Whelan's. And of course the moviemakers decided to relocate it to the sticks.
The pub is alive and well, but is actually in the middle of Dublin. Which is a city. So no sheep grazing outside the main entrance or old men in wellies sipping their pints of Guinness.

Ok, this does have a point.
Saturday was my first time in Whelan's.
I usually try to stay out of Dublin, as the place stresses me out and makes me extremely grumpy. And I wasn't supposed to go this time either, nope. I was planning to stay comfily in my hometown, and go see The Aftermath singlelaunch. I even had my nice invite and everything. But it wasn't meant to be.
So I gave my ticket to my bosses kids and off we went, me and the other Laura.

This was the support band, Hogan. Absolutely brilliant band, great energy and Mark is turning into one of my favourite frontmen in the country. He reminds me an awful lot of Dave of the Dave's radio fame. Hmmm... Anyway, extra points from the drummer, who is just something else. (Himself hates his hat, but agrees on the skills department)

And here's Superstate again. The engagement of the bassplayer was the main topic of conversations that night.

And here's Himself, who was the guitar tech on the night, sang backing vocals and played keyboards on a few songs. What can't he do?

It was sooooo good to get home on Sunday and have a proper cup of tea. It might be a good while until I try hanging out in the capital again....

Oh yeah, the boy can play...

Guess who was playing in the pub next door last night?

Do you recognize the fella on the left?
...If you don't, not to worry.

Himself picked me up from work last night
and told me JC (The gentleman in a very stripy shirt) had a little job for me.
He had somehow managed to get hold of John Illsley, and got him to play
last night's gig with him and Greg.
Before last night name Illsley wouldn't had said anything to me,
now I know he is the former bassplayer of Dire Straits.
You learn something new every day. :)

Himself got to play a song as well.
Sultans of Swing, indeed.

One of the more interesting nights...

Music WAGging

Myself and The Other Laura went to see our boys play on Thursday.
The venue was a small pub this time, so it was all nice and intimate.

I love this pic of the two of them;
You can see the hint of laughter in her face.

And this is Himself,
playing bass for a change.
Awwww...

Soup with shooting stars (and targets)

The reason I haven't been writing in the last little while, is my re-warmed affair, which has finally gotten out of hand. Completely.

I can't stop thinking about my new old love, and find myself wanting to spend every moment of the day with them. I can't concentrate at work, find it hard to fall asleep and walk around with a goofy grin on my face. I think it's love.

Himself is getting sick of listening to me, even though he is nice enough to pretend he doesn't mind. And in a way he's happy because I'm happy again. And at this stage I should probably say, that I'm not getting hot and heavy with some fella I found last weekend. (Himself is a patient man, but not quite that understanding!)
I'm talking about the oldest love of my life: Cooking and baking.

I'm buying new cookbooks, re-reading old ones and changing old recipes to suit my mood. I usually have at least one recipebook with me at work, and I keep making menus for the weeks to come. Yesterday I started baking as soon as I got up. And was a few minutes late from work, because I had to wait for the last buns to come out. Handily enough, I could bribe my boss with homebaked apple pie. :)

I'm trying to balance it out by reading Ann Rule's crime files. It's not working that well, really.
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On Friday we went to see a new local band, who released their first single. Luckily I didn't have to pay for the ticket, as they were fairly average. And we're betting they're probably going to be huge and sell at least gold.
(My theory is, that to become a hit you have to either
a) Make up a name no-one understands/is able to pronounce
or
b) walk around in your underwear/as little clothing as possible
The band mentioned have both things sorted; Definitely hit material!)
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Himself was shooting on Saturday and came second in the competition! Their team won! I'm always so proud when he does well in those things. I told him there's no coming home without medals of some sort, and he brought back two.
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I better go and finish making the soup (leek & chickpea, Jamie Oliver's recipe)
Yep, I think I have a new addiction....

It's nice to be nice... But do I have to?

Last night, as soon as we got home, Himself had to go to work again. I got to stay at home for a few extra hours before following him to the one and only music venue in our town.

Seems that we have nearly started a little family business; "Hire a guitar tech, get a merchandise person/doorman/extra pair of hands for free" (Hmmm.. Now there might just be something there...)

So I took the money and stamped more hands than I thought I'd ever see. I don't know how I didn't have any dreams about hands last night; There definitely was enough material for a whole movie! Pale, nearly blue hands; hands with dozens of bracelets (which cover stamps nicely and make the checking part of work ten times harder), nervous-looking hands... And a pair of older hands, with lacy arm warmers. Who says punk is dead?

This kept me entertained for a good part of the night. And suddenly things started to happen. Some people couldn't understand the concept of paying to see a gig, and tried to push their way in past me. See, when you reach a dizzying height of 5' 3", and try to do work normally associated with big guys with walkie-talkies, you get these people who think you won't try to stop them. Somehow I think they weren't expecting me. Oh, how I hate breaking people's dreams. (insert evil laugh here) Using my best voice (what I lack in height, I have in volume!) I gently pushed a group of ten people back a few steps. After that I didn't have any trouble with payments and got to enjoy the rest of the gig.

At the end I started to take down the shirts we had on display. Managed to get the last one into my hands just before I fell. And landed on one foot. And, of course, hurt my ankle. The funny thing about this was, I'd been drinking juice the whole night watching people around me get drunk. And yet, none of them got as much as a scratch. This nearly makes me believe in one of Himself's favourite sayings; "Trying to be good really doesn't pay off".

So here I am, nursing my poor ankle in the safety of my workplace. (At least I have a counter between myself and the customers...)
And I'm pretty certain, that the next time you see me doing the door or climbing after merchandise, I will have a nice pint of Guinness in front of me!

Working for the (big) man

It's over, and I can't say I'm sad.
Thankfully I had time for at least one of my traditions, gingerbread figures. There's some piggies, hearts and trees, just waiting to be eaten. The dogs in Himself's homeplace were over-excited when they smelled the baking cookies; they seemd to remember them from last year. So I had two little helpers running around the kitchen.

Last night we went for a few drinks in our friends' house. Champagne, crackers and cheese, they really were spoiling us!
Got to bed at around four, and had to wake up early today to go to a little town for a gig. (Won't even try to spell the name, Irish place names can be a bit confusing at times)

You'll never guess, where I'm writing this at the moment! In an old church, which has been converted into an arts centre. It still has the lovely, old windows and wooden floors, and of course the high ceiling. What could be a nicer place to write in?
Himself will be teching for a band called Superstate and I'll be taking money at the door and selling CDs. It's so nice to be doing this kind of work again, it's been a while since the last time. I have my little station all set up next to the door. CDs, mailing lists and pens all in order.

The boys are soundchecking, I'm drinking lukewarm tea and waiting.
And hoping I'll have lots of work to do tonight!