In which I become giddy with excitement

Whoever runs the sound desk at the London Astoria presumably plays a mean pinball.

They do not, however, have any notion of how to run a sound desk. We went to see the magnificent Flogging Molly last night, and the levels were so bad that no song was at all distinguishable. The person on the desk went at the controls with all the finesse of a hippopotamus driving a JCB. It was like listening through bathwater. Which is proper annoying as Flogging Molly are aces.

The one thing the sound people did know how to do was volume. As in VOLUME. My ears are still ringing and I am driving the Other Half mental as every time he says anything to me he is rewarded with a quizzical look and a response of “eh??”. Every time. Exasperation levels are currently sitting somewhere around Defcon 2.

But anyway. That’s not the exciting part. The Astoria (sound aside) is a fabulous venue. It’s tiered, so that old people like me and the Other Half don’t have to slum it in the pit with all the youngsters. So we stood upstairs. And halfway through the set, Dave King (the singer. God, Granddad, don’t you know anything?) waved up at us and mentioned “the girl in the Motorhead t-shirt”. That was me!! Me! Fortunately, the Other Half managed to persuade me not to show Mr King my boobs, and a crisis was averted.

But still!! I am thirty-five! And despite the fact that it was dark in there, and he was a long way away, and probably blinded by the stage lights, and possibly drunk, a singer in a band noticed me! And said hello!

We are going to see the Foo Fighters at Wembley next Saturday. I will of course be wearing my Motorhead t-shirt. And by next Sunday I will be the next Mrs Dave Grohl.

Fact.