One Unconventional Night

ONE UNCONVENTIONAL NIGHT

Hello dear readers. I just wanted to share with you guys an excerpt from one of my journals, because I've been thinking about it a lot, now that the new year has begun. One night last autumn, my friend and I went to town to watch a band play, and this is the story of what happened. There isn't an awful lot to it, but to me it perfectly encapsulates life. What it is. What it should be. All the joy, wonder, heartache, quirkiness. Those seemingly mundane things that when stringed together become something beautiful, This is an anecdote that's random and magical in equal measure, and I hope you like it as much as I do:

#35

This evening, my friend asked me if I wanted to watch her boyfriend's band 'White Eskimo', perform an acoustic set at the Black Dog Ballroom in town. And because I adore live music, and Manchester, and spontaneity, I said yes. When I left to go, in my new red leather faux crocodile boots that glimmer so fiercely and make me feel like a queen (oh the power of good footwear), I realised it was chucking it down with rain. As per usual. 

But you know, there was something so beautiful about it in the darkness. People huddled under umbrellas, rushing home for shelter. The homeless man who lives in a tent across the road, god bless his lovely soul, buckling up for the night ahead. The cars rushing through puddles, genesising a cascade of water in their wake. The street lights rippling reflectively in the water, so the world seems even more alight then it did before. It really was just beautiful. And in town, walking around the Northern Quarter, down quiet and peaceful streets usually so packed full of people and life. The pouring rain just added to the magic. It really felt like the city was ours.

In the bar we ordered drinks, and an old guy sat on a stool drinking Guinness, started talking to us. He was one of life's eccentricities. A floral scarf and a smart jacket, wisps of hair spilling out around the crown of his head, a long nose, a well spoken voice, and a childish, gleeful laugh. He told us how his grandparents once owned the building Affleck's Palace is in. How he knew the guy who started off body building. How he was making a black and white film about the guy who stole Edvard Munch's 'The Scream', and the film is being financed by the man who now owns the painting. How he used to be a circus performer. How his son now owns Hard Rock Cafe in Oslo. How he knows the presenter off an antiques show. How he carried a £12,000 painting through Derby city centre. 

How he knew the guy who made Germany's first non-pornographic sex film. How we need to spend less time on our phones and computers, and go out there into the unknown and meet people. Hang around in bars long enough to discover stories. Be eccentric and confident and seek the constant thrills of life and possibility, because life can be 'so fucking boring', and sometimes you need to create the magic for yourself. 

Even though he was bonkers and brave and a little bit up himself, people like him are the kind of people you never forget. They're inspiring and unique, and it almost feels like they know a secret about life that you don't. Sometimes I really do think that these kinds of people are the best kinds of people, and meeting them is something of a blessing in disguise. 

After the brilliant gig, we all went to a student pub near All Saints, and I got carried away just people watching. Looking at the people from my generation and how they dress, how they act, how they interact with one another. Wondering who they will become and who they used to be, and have they changed a lot or stayed the same. Wondering if they feel that collective hum of addictive youth and possibility, almost as if enough of us stood together in one place, our combined energy could take over the whole world and we would be the rulers of our destinies.

On the walk back, I thought about my lost love and missed him inexplicably and inexpressibly, even though in time he is fading away, though I doubt he ever will fully. Whilst I walked, I thought, and I realised how the sounds of the city have become a symphony to my ears. The sounds help me become lost in my own dreams and thoughts, as the sirens and engines rush on infinitely.

And when I got back home, I ate branflakes and I called back my sister. She told me she had called because she wanted to tell me what a magical, unconventional night she'd had. And I was so touched, and glad, and then I told her, me too.