Implementor

Each night of this December’s ATP was marked by a notable toilet–related incident, like some twisted trio of Dickensian ghosts.

Banana Milkshake

On Friday night, a drunken Scotsman in an otherwise (unusually) deserted toilet asked me if I knew where he could get a banana milkshake.

Naturally (naturally! — everyone knows you should never even look at a stranger in a gents toilet, let alone speak to him) I assumed this must be some sort of disgusting gay slang, made a vague suggestion about buying bananas from Tesco, and left before he could, I don’t know, cottage me or something.

I maintain that this was a rational and reasonable response.

“Oh, ow, get off!”

On Saturday night, there was a couple having sex in the toilets by the main stage, accompanied by some energetic moaning and an occasional red Converse boot or absurd winklepicker thrust from beneath the cubicle wall. I guess this is what happens when you make people queue for ages to get into venues with pretty much no chance of ever getting back in if they leave.

Unlike Friday, every man in there stoically maintained traditional urinal etiquette, despite the sort of crowding and queuing that meant that extra cubicle would have been extremely useful.

Even when a series of panicky gasps and protestations indicated something had apparently gone badly wrong in said cubicle.

Take note, Scotland.

We still don’t know what a TV dinner feels like

On Sunday night, it was discovered that there was an open ventilation shaft in the toilets of Reds bar, from which could clearly be heard the sound of Iggy and the Stooges playing the main stage.

I don’t think anyone really wanted to watch a man who resembles nothing so much as an antique suitcase leaping around and singing songs we don’t like, but obviously any opportunity to circumvent their draconian system of queues and wristbands had to be taken.

Alas, real life once again proved itself inferior to video games and Die Hard, and despite Simon’s best efforts, the ventilation system wouldn’t support the weight of a man. A disappointing anti–climax, then.

Much like that cubicle on Saturday night.

Not really a Review: Low at Koko, July 26th.

Performing Things We Lost In The Fire as part of ATP’s Don’t Look Back 2006 season. And being totally sweet. I’ve never really made lists of my favourite things before but I now have a list of favourite gigs. So far it has this on it, at the top, and that’s it. They were that good.

Koko is a fantastic venue and I was right at the front. And on the way home a drunk got his head trapped in the doors of the Northern line. Which could have been awful, but everyone pitched in to prise them apart and he seemed all right, so I guess laughing wasn’t that bad.

Photos here.

Last week, I was at All Tomorrow’s Parties. It was completely brilliant. Not even being stuck on a train in Appledore for ages and ages could spoil it, even though we had to listen to a bunch of buffoons in the same carriage suggesting that the best way for David Cross to not get booed off stage would be to just come on and “sing a funny song” and not be offensive. As opposed to, say, by avoiding audiences full of idiot Sleater–Kinney fans. Incredible.

As Ste says, it’s impossible to convey why ATP is so amazing. Like the ant joke, it can only be experienced. So here’s an entirely inadequate list of those who made it amazing.

These bands were awesome:

• Herman Düne
• Broken Social Scene!
• Dinosaur Jr!
• Boredoms
• Radar Bros
• Black Heart Procession
• Fiery Furnaces!
• Big Business!
• Elf Power
• Electrelane!

These bands really weren’t, but totally couldn’t spoil it and granted us time to sit down and make jokes about them instead. Plus, two of them were at least responsible for inviting the amazing bands:

• Mt Eerie
• Dead Meadow
• Dungen
• Sleater–Kinney
• Destroyer
• The New Pornographers
• The Shins

These people made it perfect:

• The Triforce!
• Jude!
• goz!
• Marky!
• Max!
• Melissa!
• Kieron!
• James!
• Lapin!
• The guys from NonStuff!
• Declan!
• …and almost everyone else I met.

I had a lovely time and it was great to see everyone. See you in December!

PS: I took some photographs.

So I’m sitting in the bar at work. A perfectly ordinary end to a perfectly ordinary week and I’ve barely tasted my second beer. Surely a splendidly relaxing evening lies ahead.

Well, no. Not five minutes later, somebody wants to get past. There was probably room anyway but I’m an accommodating sort, so I pulled my stool in. And in the process, slammed my knee into the corner of an unexpected beam under the table.

It didn’t hurt or anything. It didn’t hurt because I’d hit a nerve so precisely that pretty much my entire left leg had immediately gone numb. And the numbness spread. I had just enough time to hear my colleague start taking the piss before I came over all dizzy and keeled over.

From that point it’s a little hazy. Apparently I came to a couple of minutes later just as every first–aider in the building rushed to my aid, only to stand up as if nothing had happened. And thirty seconds later promptly collapsed again, backwards over a stool, in cartoon fashion, cracking my head on the table and then floor along the way.

All of this was to the accompaniment of OMD’s Enola Gay, incidentally. Words can’t describe the feeling.

The second time I woke up, flat on my back on the floor, I felt absolutely fine, just a little bit tingly in my hands and face. Even now I find it hard to believe I banged my head twice in quick succession. But obviously, everyone was very concerned, so I had to explain that no, I’d had plenty to eat, very little alcohol to drink, had no history of illness in the family and hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary all week two or three times to different people. And then to the paramedics in their ambulance.

Interestingly, it turns out I don’t bleed very much even when purposely stabbed with a needle. Apparently it’s also really, really hard to take my blood pressure and heart rate, although once they’d managed it everything appeared to be okay. It took a while to convince them that I haven’t seen a doctor since I was about 12 years old but other than that I just had to sign to say I didn’t feel like I needed to go to hospital and that was that.

This story could probably use some sort of insightful conclusion about now but really all I’ve learned is that it’s possible to be apparently entirely indifferent to pain but still bang your knee hard enough to knock you out twice in rapid succession. Also that Friday nights in are pretty fucking dull.

What’s ailing you this evening?