It's been a long time since I have written my last blog. I'd love to say that in that time I have found the cure to cancer, travelled to a far off distant land where I had under gone a life changing experience, and finally worked out the answer to the ultimate question, "Why do footballers get paid so much money?" But I haven't done any of these things. I have been really busy instead, and haven't had time to write this. Although that's an excuse which if remotely pulled apart would fold, it is the truth. I have had just as much time as someone that has achieved all of the above, but I've been knackered. We've been doing a lot with the house; cleared the loft, decorated the kids room, got the office back. Also, we've had a couple of emergencies, I've been to Sweden, and I've been to see Status Quo; all of these things would normally have featured in the blog, but there you go.
Finally the event that has inspired me to pick up the old quill again, is a chance meeting with an idol of mine. No-one will know who she is but I have admired her for years. She is an Icelandic singer/songwriter with a voice that was initially made with honey but then dragged through a load of broken glass, and finally 20 Marlboro. The result is exceptionally enticing, but this is not all that she has. She has a heart that appears to have been broken so many times that it needs to be thrown away and started again. The lyrics are brilliantly written, and she is the right side of underground that makes her cool, without being depressed. It's all presented through a smile that makes any audience feel for her, and want to put an arm around her and let her know that it will all be alright.
Well, I heard that she was playing in Manchester at a small venue that is new, and so I never played there. The gig had sold out straight away, and in my normal timing, I missed out. But where there's a will there's a way, and I looked on the Internet tout sites that showed that one ticket was going for £97. I suppose that Romeo would have put his hand in his pocket for Juliet, Anthony for Cleopatra, and Jose Mourinho for himself, but this was more than my love was worth. Instead I went to my old mucker Damo, who in the time that he hasn't been playing in my band has become a bit of a player in the Manchester music scene. So it turned out that his management company were promoting this gig as well, and a phone call later Mike Holley plus one were on the guest list for free. Obviously destiny was calling, and the angels had not orchestrated such divine fate ever before.
The gig was only 300 people strong, and packed into a small corner of the venue where the stage was. Due to the abysmal architecture of the Victorians who clearly were not thinking of gigs when they were building this original textiles emporium, they had put thick pillars right down the side of the stage which meant no visibility to the stage from anywhere except from right in front of it. Was it that the angels had packed it in? Ian and I stood at the bar having a pint listening to the voice that was being played through a harp that heaven was holding, and occasionally catching a glimpse of her forehead.
The gig finished and strangely most of the 300 people left immediately. I was still having a drink, and Ian, who turns into a pumpkin after 11 o'clock left as well. So that just left me with my friend Carling. We went to the merchandise table to see what was on offer, and I asked if they had anything signed. They replied that they didn't but if I wanted, the guy would go backstage and ask her. I was just stood there, and there wasn't a queue, so I said, "well, yeah... if you don't mind". The bloke disappeared through another door, and I was left there waiting, feeling a bit stupid for asking.
Then the door opened, like it used to for Stars in their Eyes, a bright light shone from behind, and small doves escaped from the gaps and flew off to spread the word of peace. A weird ethereal music was to be heard, but from not one particular source, and then as my eyes adjusted to the light I could make out the diminutive form of Emiliana Torrini breaking through the barrier into reality. My reality.
She asked me if I had enjoyed the gig, and I responded from a voice deep within that, "I had, thank you very much." I explained to her that I really enjoyed her music, and tried very hard to not sound like a serial killer. There were a couple of others stood by us, and I just stood there as she pulled out a marker and marked her own album. "Takk! Emiliana T. To. Mike, with luurve..."
I looked her straight in the eye and thanked her very much again, we shared a brief moment and then she disappeared back through the door that she had come.
I went away from the venue whilst being carried by an army of the doves that had escaped previously, and returned home to my normal life but with the knowledge that that had just happened.
As in Mr.Benn when he returns home from a drug enhanced escape in the costume shop, and always has a souvenir in his pocket. She is now in a frame on the wall in my hall, always there to remind me of the night that I saw heaven, and looked an angel in the eyes.
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