Pynchon

So, then. The Prodigy. What was that like? Fucking brilliant, as it happens.

I am one of the Johnny-Come-Lately's who only really became aware of The Prodigy once Keith Flint has christened himself the "Firestarter" and the song hit number 1 in the UK. In the 90's I knew only a little about the dance scene, had never taken 'E' or danced wearing shorts in a field. I regret it. I think I would have loved it, even though I would have been too old for such ridiculous shenanigans even then. I was thinking recently that dance/crossover acts are mostly all that I am booking tickets for lately. Scissor Sisters and Moby over the last year and next year I am going to see Goldfrapp. I wish that Lorraine liked that kind of stuff, but she doesn't, and anyway she would not go to a jump-up-and-down gig.

Anyway, I really enjoyed The Prodigy. Keith was a cartoon, but he has always been a cartoon. He was dressed in what looked like Dune inspired bondage gear and seemed entirely oblivious to the world; talking to himself, pointing ranting and shouting. Liam Howlett was intense and serious and sweating behind a huge bank of keyboards. Maxim Reality wound the audience up tighter than my Mad Aunt Delilah. For me he was the surprise of the night. I never realised that he would be the focus on stage. I always assumed that it would be Keith Flint. Maxim Reality is a very imposing man. Impossibly tall, dreads, half his face painted with white powder. Hell, I was scared and I was miles back from the stage.

And the songs... "Breathe", "Firestarter", "Poison", "Voodoo People", "Smack My Bitch Up", "Out Of Space", "Charly", "Spitfire" (dedicated to George Best), etc. Brilliant. Just brilliant. I danced all night. My legs ache me today. I am an old man.

Half the fun were the things going on in the audience.

1. I saw a girl who turned up for the gig wearing a red, white and blue bikini, furry boots and carrying what looked like cheerleader pom poms. For the benefit of viewers not in the UK I need to point out that it is extremely cold in the UK at the moment. A lot of places have had snow. Bikini and boots is not exactly winter attire. Not that I am complaining, mind. She looked good.
2. I saw a guy in the toilet selling coke (not the drink) and pills (I assume not aspirin). He was getting a lot of business, but none from me. I passed. God knows how he got in the venue, but I was not searched and I was wearing a huge black coat (and my funky pink shirt) with lots of pockets.
3. In the same toilet I saw two guys having a piss in separate sinks because the toilets were busy. (True, there were about 500 blokes in the toilet at the time.) Urgh. Awful. I am a clean guy. I always wash my hands after a piss. Sadly I chose not to wash my hands on this occasion.
4. I was having a boogie, letting my hair down, blowing my funky horn, bustin' some moves when a girl (large, dressed all in black, sexy little glasses and fishnet tights) tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I would "watch out for her" while her Boyfriend got them some drinks. She indicated a bearded monster (he looked like the lead singer of The Magic Numbers) making his way away from us through the crowd. Was it a come on? No, I don't think so. She was just young and thought that I looked like I was not on pills as opposed to everybody else who looked like they were on pills. (Good lord. Do people look at me and think that I am a responsible adult? When people look at me I want them to see Keith Richards, not Cliff Richard!) The girl and I had a dance and after 40 minutes the Boyfriend turned up, looked suspicious and spirited the lady away.
5. I saw a black dude, obviously in his mid 40's, wearing rings that flashed on and off, who danced like Keith in the "No Good (Start The Dance)" video from the moment the support act came on (the Audio Bullys - white rapper and a DJ who was smoking a huge spliff - they were good and got the audience moving) to the moment The Prodigy finished. I don't know where he got his energy from.
6. I looked up and I saw a sea of hands giving respect to the God of Dance. (At this point I had passive smoked an intense amount of spliff residue and was obviously hallucinating.)

When I got home Lorraine was in bed. She had had an early night because she was to get up early this morning to catch the train to London for a day long sqwark with her cousin. I bent over to kiss her and she said that I stank of cigarettes and to keep away from her. I got changed, went downstairs, watched the repeat of "Peep Show" on E4 and went to bed. I groped Lorraine's bottom while she slept and then slept myself.

Great night!

I have been thinking about George Best, who died yesterday. Here is a man who wasted his talent in pursuit of a decadent, playboy lifestyle. A man who was a great footballer, but did not achieve everything that he could have done in football. A man who satisfied his own pleasures to the detriment of his own health and any sense of personal responsibility to himself or his family. A man of whom Tommy Doherty is supposed to have sadly commented, "If only he could have passed a bar the way he could pass a ball".

Or you could say that here was a man who had a great life. Here was a man who (and it pains me to admit it) played for the greatest domestic Football team the UK has ever produced. A man who played and scored for his national team. A man who shagged many fine women. A man who ingested some very fine alcoholic beverages and, possibly, very fine drugs. A man who earned and spent shitloads of money. A man who saw the world. A man who made people smile. A man who had fun.

RIP George Best. I will remember you this evening with a glass of wine.

I am off to pick up Lorraine from the train station. I will correct spellings and/or links later.