Venice, Verona and Very Broken Luggage

Once again, I'm unsure what country I'm in. The city is definitely still Geneva, but the airport may or may not be back across the French border. Oh well. All I know is that I'm hungry, and I have 25 gosh-darned Swiss Francs that I know I won't be able to get rid of anywhere else. I inspect the long lines of dry-looking baguettes on display in the airport food stores (aha, we are back in France after all), grimance, and eventually settle on something called "tonna"  because it looks like it involves mayonnaise. And it could be tuna. Which it is.

We're in for an unpleasant surprise upon arrival at the boarding gates: boarding starts in 10 minutes, and our flight has been cancelled. They'll try to put us on the next flight, which is only 2 and a half hours from now. Can we get a car and drive to Venice? No, apparently not.

We're airbourn approximately 4 minutes before the 2.5 hour cut-off time after which the airline would have to provide some form of compensation to us. Granted, said compensation would probably have been a 3 buck voucher to cover a quarter of one of those awful baguettes, but still.

And so the Alps give way to the rolling Italian countryside, and before long we land at Venice's Marco Polo airport. I can't say I remember disembarking (it's now November, this was very late May), but I do remember arriving at baggage claim to find a suitcase with no wheels, no handle and a broken zip. Cue carrying said suitcase through airport like some kind of grossly disfigured humanoid child.
We locate the correct bus into Mestre (surprisingly easy, given that everything is in Italian) and  hop aboard - to find that our only fellow passengers are a South African couple headed to Venice to board a cruise! The world is ridiculously small.

The hotel is supposed to be 200m from the bus station, but it feels more like 200 miles, with said suitcase. We take turns dragging the thing, and luckily spot a store packed with cheap suitcases along the way. This is surely a done deal before leaving Venice, we can certainly not continue to travel this way.
Hotel = located, and the Italians at the front desk do speak some English. Obtain wi-fi password and proceed to drag the Suitcase of Death up the stairs to our room. Collapse, and then realise we're hungry. Walk to the nearest restaurant. Find they only open at 7pm. McDonald's it is, then. Sigh. If I never see another Micky D's again, I will be a happy human being.

For some unfathomable reason, sunlight in Italy just seems a lot brighter than sunlight anywhere else I've ever been, and we wake up early the next morning to a beautiful day. Finally, no coats required. Apparently people in Italy eat cake for breakfast, but I'm definitely not complaining. Plus, they have TEA here. English breakfast tea has never tasted so good.

Board bus into central Venice, experience typical Italian driving skills, dropped off in parking lot next to canals - and off we go! Venice looks just like the pictures, books and tv depict it, but rather than float around in a gondola all day, it is perfectly possible to navigate the town without doing too much water travel. We take the waterbus accross the Grand Canal, with no real idea of where we're going. I should mention that whilst this is a pleasant experience on the whole, these waterbuses have absolutely no braking system - they stop when they collide with the dock, and some unfortunate young man is left to tie the ropes to secure the things whilst the passengers disembark.

Despite the internet saying different, there's really only one part of Venice that smells a bit funky - the fish market. Avoid at all costs! We wander through the cute little streets for absolute hours, eating gelato and avoiding the ridiculously-priced designer shops. My main purchase of the day is a sailor hat that is destined to adorn my head for at least the next week. We dine on pasta hilst Avril Lavigne screeches her latest chart topper on the radio. Some things are no different, no matter where you are in the world.
Aroud 4pm we head back to the parking lot to catch the bus back. Aching feet is definitely a small price to pay for a day in such a stunning city.

Verona. It's the creepy hidden track at the end of Hurts' 'Water'. It's the place The Killers headlined that festival called something about Life or Love or Beautiful or Wonderful... (it's called 'A Perfect Day', I had to google it later). But over and above that, it's the city in which Romeo & Juliet was set. Now, whether or not the story was based on any vague form of fact, tourists are 100% happy to trek all the way out here from Venice (an hour on the train) to see what is billed as Juliet's Balcony. Would you judge me if I said I was one of those tourists?

After an hour of walking in the wrong direction in the boiling hot sun  (thanks, mom) we finally walk back to the train station and attempt to catch a bus going in the right direction. What we don't factor in is that today is Sunday, and apparently buses don't run here on Sundays. Cue more walking. We do finally make it into the tourist part of town though, and immdeiately feel the need to feed our stomachs. The internet says that you should never eat meat in Verona, because what is billed as beef is actually horse. Great to know. I settle for a margharita. The pizza that is, not the cocktail. One of those would have bankrupted me.
Streets are wandered, and shops are stared into, but the real point of this excursion is trackign down the famed balcony. And thanks to phenomenal navigational skills (read: following the crowds of people in front of us) we are able to do just that. While we can't deal with the queues (or the 10 Euro) to actually go onto the balcony, we're prefectly content with pretending to be Romeo and starring up at it from the ground.
And so the Venetian leg of our journey must come to an end - tomorrow, the Italian travels continue: on to Florence we go!

The Four Categories of Club Music

A crowd of young zombies gather in a dark room, their bodies pulsating to some beat only they can hear. Their minds are blank as their vacant stares and their eyes open and close at irregular intervals. They're ingesting an unknown substance to keep them alive - without it, the dark room would become poisonous, and they would be forced to evacuate or be driven immediately insane. Suddenly, bright lights flash on, and a terrible noise fills the air, causing the small group of humans left to shriek and block their ears. But it's too late, the zombies have spotted them and move in for the kill, arms outstretched towards the poor human girls. A zombie grabs the nearest girl by the shoulders. Her dress twirls out as she spins towards him, trying but failing to fight the irresistable pull of the zombie. He hands her a volume of the unknown substance and motions for her to drink it. Then, in the final moments, she lets herself go and allows him to touch his lips to hers, in a kiss of death. She is a zombie now, and her friends look on in horror, knowing they are unable to save her. 

If you think this sounds like something out of the latest straight-to-DVD zombie comedy-horror, you'd be wrong. It's simply a scene from my trip to local party hotspot, Tiger Tiger last night. No, there was no zombie theme party, use your imagination for goodness' sake. 

The zombies in this instance are the young adults, the magic substance is their drink of choice. Because in all honesty, the only way yo survive such hangouts is with the help of some serious vodka. Unless you're me... in that case, no amount of shots can make this mini-apocalypse survivable. 

But this is a fangirl blog, and I intend to examine the music played at these clubs, above all other things. Club music falls into about four distinct categories, so let's examine them.

So, we start off with a rave beat, no words, no discernible tune, just doof-doof-doof coming from the DJ booth. The young zombies seem not to even notice the music, but they sure do move to it. The head-bop, the arm-move, the leg-bend and the twerk are amongst such moves. The zombies seem hypnotised. I'm ready to launch myself off a bridge.

We then progress to a range of mind-numbing, stomach-turning chart toppers including that song Pitbull bee's re-recording and trying to pass off as a new hit every few months for the past five years, a little bit of Pink, and even some One Direction. It's really not that bad, if you know the words, you can scream them to your friends and continue your head-bopping. Even better is when it's a good song, like Florence's 'The Dog Days Are Over', which has a great beat, meaning it doesn't have to be remixed (more on that coming up). At least singing will keep you entertained and stop you from glancing around the room, lest you make eye-contact with a lonely zombie scoping the edges of the dancefloor for fresh meat. *Shudder*

Next we're on to remixes of songs that should never be re-mixed. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to break Imagine Dragon's 'Radioactive' into pieces split by Avicci-style bass-drops? Also, slapping a dance-y backing track onto 'I Will Wait' does not make it okay to twerk to Mumford & Sons! Have you ever listened to this band's lyrics? You have? And you still want to shake your ass to them? Now, I love Mumford & Sons, so obviously I get excited when I hear their songs start to play, but I dancing to 'I Will Wait' just felt wrong. Dirty. Ugh.

And so we reach the final category: the oldies. At this particular club, the pure rubbish takes a break about once an hour, for one or two great singalong 'oldies'. Now, I use the term 'oldies' loosely, simply because no, we're not dancing to The Platters, but then again 99% of these people wouldn't know what they were. 2000 is way old for these kids. So in the first hour, we're treated to 'All The Small Things' and 'Teenage Dirtbag' - the latter of which is so bad that it should have been outlawed by 2001, yet it's still 100x better than the rest of the night's music - and in the second hour it's Journey's (yes, Journey, not Glee) 'Don't Stop Believing'. Remarkably, the zombies come alive at these singalongs. Belting out every word, the dancefloor comes alive with bouncing, singing, smiling human beings.

It really gets me thinking - maybe people do have better music taste than they care to admit. Maybe they don't even really dig the latest David Guetta jam, and would much rather be listening to Journey, but of course they could never admit that. They'd lose all their street cred. Either way, I'm more than happy to step into my car at 2am and blast some Springsteen all the way home. My street cred's long gone. 

More Concerts For Cape Town!

A few unfortunate things happened when I went to T in the Park this year. Quite aside from being hit on the head by all those cups of what I certainly hope was only beer, I had to make some pretty tough decisions when it came to what bands to watch. Beady Eye vs Rihanna was an easy one, but others were less so: I could watch all of Bastille's set and then risk being stuck at the back of another stage for Hurts straight after, I could forfeit barrier for The Killers to watch more of Foals... seriously, it was a nightmare.

Whilst I managed to break the Two Door Cinema Curse (don't ask), I did manage to miss 90% of Bastille's set in favour of a barrier spot for Hurts, and I ditched Foals one song in for the love of The Killers. Festivals are, unfortunately, always a trade-off. But never fear, for Cape Town is just as awesome as the UK when it comes to music.

Firstly, rock fans all around the country rejoiced when Ramfest announced Biffy Clyro and Foals would headline in 2014. All bets were on Biffy, but I'd tipped Foals to be at Synergy rather than Ramfest. I'm very excited to see both bands, and definitely need to brush up on my song knowledge so that I'm not that awkward kid who only sings along to 'Mountains' and 'My Number'.

Then today, out of nowhere, Seed Experiences and 5FM magically announce that Bastille are coming! This announcement is completely out of nowhere, and I'm not sure what to do with myself. It's too much all at once! Funny thing is, I hesitated to buy myself a R6 chocolate this morning, but think nothing of spending R1000 on tickets to these concerts. Addicted, you say? Never...

Ramfest tickets here.
Bastille tickets here.

Panic Station: A Tale of Terror

Here's another short story based on lyrics! See if you can guess what song this is:

An abandoned tube station was, perhaps, not the most normal place for a first date. But hey, Donna was quirky and different like that, and if that's what she wanted, Alex could dig it. 

He'd fancied her for months, but had never plucked up the courage to speak to her until three days ago. He'd asked if he could walk her home from school, and she'd  clearly picked up on his feelings.She'd smiled coyly, flipped her waist-length black hair over her shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. 

"If you want to ask me out, just do it." Her grey eyes flashed, and she winked one heavily made-up eyelid at him.

Alex hadn't known what to say. "I-I-I ... I mean..."

She had grinned widely and said "Friday night, the old Panic Station, meet me there."

Panic Station. Between Burnt Oak and Edgeware, on the outskirts of the Northern Line, Panic had been closed since before Alex and Donna were born. It was something of an unspoken rule that you just didn't go down there: rumours ranged from rat infestations to crowd of the homeless, to the occasional crazy person who thought it was haunted. In reality, it was probably just dark, cold and flooded, but no one had taken the chance and gone to check it out. 

But instead of meeting down the local pub or on Hampstead Heath, Donna had wanted to meet Alex at Panic Station. And Alex ignored his misgivings, fastened the buttons on his coat and headed out the door, calling a vague "See you later, I'm meeting some friends" to his mom and dad, who were seated at the kitchen table. 

Being mid-January, the winter freeze had long ago set in, and Alex's breath came out in wreaths of steam and he jogged down the main street. It was 6.55pm, and Donna had wanted to meet at 7pm - he couldn't risk being late for his first real date ever. He picked up the pace as the entrance to the old station came into view.

Alex's high-top sneakers thudded heavily on the stairs down to the platforms, the rhythm almost formed a beat in his head, and it helped to calm his nerves. She was only a girl. He had no reason whatsoever to be nervous.

"Donna...?" He called. His voice echoed into the silence Donna-na-na-na-na.

No answer. He checked his watch: 7.10pm. It was fine, she was just running a bit late. Maybe girls always ran late.

It was creepy down here, though. And freezing. Shivers ran down Alex's spine, and he began to shake uncontrollably. He rubbed his hands together to warm them up, but it was as though he couldn't even feel them touching. And he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched...

"Donna? Is that you?" He leaned up against a wall, acting casual. No answer, but a scuttling noise made him jump. It sounded like multiple, light-footed people. There was, without a doubt, something coming towards him from the depths of the station. What if it was some crazy man with an axe, or a gun? Alex pressed his body against the wall, trying to make himself invisible. He tried to breathe softly, but his heart was pounding out a symphony is his chest. Surely anyone could hear it. The noise kept coming towards him... suddenly it was on top if him. Alex closed his eyes and tried to stop his body from shaking. Something light brushed his leg and he jumped. OH GOOD GOD, IT HAD EYES.

He could have sworn! The thing that had touched him had eyes! Not just two eyes, either. It had been low to the ground, and a reflection of light from outside had caught in its eyes - it had looked like a spider but surely no spider in the world was a foot tall. It was all part of the nerves - the dark was playing tricks on Alex's mind. It had surely just been an old crisp packet, blown towards him by the wind, or at a push, maybe it had been a rat.

That was when everything lit up.

For a second, Alex's mind turned off, he couldn't understand what was happening... and then he heard the familiar rumble of the train, and realised where the light was coming from. But that made no sense! When Panic Station had been closed, they'd dug up half the Northern Line and re-routed the train tracks - the station wasn't just closed: it wasn't on the line anymore! In fact, the Southern end of the platforms had been bricked up - there was no way for a train to pass through at all. Then how could it be that a red and white London Underground train was now speeding towards the platform - in a Southerly direction - with no signs of stopping? 

Alex stared, transfixed, as the train drew level with him. It seemed to be empty. He watched it pass the platform, and now the front was approaching the wall, the back was just passing him... Alex whipped his head around when a flash of movement in the rear window caught his eye. A small skeleton was propped up at the back of the train, eyeless sockets seeming to mock Alex, standing alone on the platform. Alex felt a scream build up in his throat and quickly tried to suppress it. Instead, he let out a feeble squeak and shut his eyes, telling himself that the skeleton had been someone's idea of a funny joke. It was exactly the same as the one in the bio labs at school: nothing to be afraid of.

Alex opened his eyes in complete darkness. The train had disappeared through the brick wall on the other side. He shook his head and tried to focus his mind. Obviously the wall only covered part of the exit from the platform. A train simply could not pass through a wall and disappear. The skeleton was a toy, and the wall had been broken down, that was the only explanation. The time was, however, high to get out of here. He would call Donna as soon as he got home and ask to re-schedule. 

He started towards the stairs, he could just make them out, now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. A deep growling sound stopped him in his tracks. To his right, he could hear something pacing, it seemed to have claws, which clicked against the old cement floors. It was also growling in a regular rhythm.

Alex inched his way towards to exit, holding his breath and praying that his footsteps were light enough for the creature to miss. He was about ten steps from the staircase when the growling suddenly stopped. The creature's feet clicked in an irregular pattern: it was turning to face him. RUN!

Adrenaline kicking in, Alex sprinted to the staircase, and took the steps 3 at a time, until he emerged, panting back on the main road. To his surprise, Donna stood across the road, idly twisting her hair between her fingers and looking slightly bored. When she caught sight of him, however, she threw her head back in a terrible laugh.

"Donna! Something's down there, Donna, we have to get OUT OF HERE!" Alex screamed, panicking.

She smiled widely, eyes full of life. "I know what's down there, Alex. If we were a couple, I'd have to hang around with all your friends at school... I was just making sure that you got along with mine."

* 'Panic Station' - Muse.

A Pirate's Tale

Sometimes I hear a song, and a music video pops into my head fully-formed. This happened to me the first time I heard a certain song, way back in 2008. I had these images of a pirate and his ship (basically the last half of this story) in my head, and eventually I started wondering what his story was. Why was he on the ship in the first place? Who was he? Well, of course only I could tell myself that, seeing I made him up, so I wrote the story story below. Please note, this is not what the song is actually about at all, it's just me using the song as a basis for a short story. I'd love to know if anyone can guess what song inspired it before reading the last line! If you can guess (or if you had any other guesses) let me know. Also please suggest other songs for me to do the same thing with! 

Captain Christopher Anthony Johns was a bad, bad buccaneer: a low-life scoundrel pirate of the high seas. Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum and all that. The only things he lacked were a peg leg and a parrot on his shoulder: he had no time for attachments anyway. Johns' only mission in life was to raid ships and steal their treasure: gold, jewels, spices... hell, even old family heirlooms would do, just as long as he could sell them off for a profit. One of the most notorious pirates in all of the Caribbean, the name Christopher Johns sent shivers down the spines of many a man.

Surprisingly, he had rather the opposite effect on women. Although nearing his fortieth year, Johns' full head of curly hair, unsettling blue eyes, and a certain amount of charm meant that he was a firm favourite with the town's female population. Although he accepted their affections - and gifts - without protest, none had been able to win the man over: his love of money and the sea kept him distant, both physically and emotionally. 

One such young lady was the 20-year-old Miss Sarah-Jane Martin, formerly of Liverpool, UK, currently living with her parents in Spanish Town, Jamaica: Johns' hometown. Sarah-Jane was the daughter of a playwright, and herself a promising seamstress, working on not only clothing, but also sails for the many ships moored at the port. Johns had often caught the girl staring at him whilst she sat on the docks feeding the seagulls. He  convinced himself that thought nothing of her - young, blonde, and too gosh-damned happy all the time, she was far from Johns' cup of tea. 

Perhaps he was simply too proud to admit that he could possibly be taken with the daughter of a playwright of all things. But aside from that, his life was upon the sea, not the land. Word was out that a Spanish vessel was to pass by nearby in just two days time. Johns barely had time to pack a few belongings before setting off for his ship.. As he made a final check on his supplies for the journey, a familiar voice called out to him. 

"Mister Johns?" It was the blonde girl, Sarah-Jane. She stood on the docks, looking up at Johns on the deck of his ship, and holding out what seemed to be a brand new sail.

"I thought you might need this. My father says that the wind is due to pick up shortly, there's a storm coming and if your sails rip, you'll never make it back in one piece."

He frowned slightly at her. This was probably the most thoughtful gift he'd ever received - most women tried to win over his heart with bottles of whiskey and rum, or tins of snuff. This girl actually seemed to care about his well-being. How novel. Other women had wanted him for his looks: they had seduced him, they had lusted after him, but they had not cared about him.

He accepted the sail with a word of sincere thanks, and then cut his ship loose from her moorings, spun the wheel to starboard and was off. He tried not to glance backwards, but he couldn't help himself. There she stood, smiling and waving him on his way. He raised his hand in a small salute before turning to face the open ocean. 

Although Johns enjoyed captaining his ship himself, she was too large to be maintained by one person. Also aboard were the sailing master, three mates and several sailors. The authority, however, belonged to Captain Johns: if he said bear West, they would bear West even if it was into a hurricane. If he said drop anchor, they would drop the anchor in the middle of Spanish territory. He was the boss and everyone knew it.

Evening approached swiftly and, as Sarah-Jane had predicted, a terrible headwind had picked up, reducing the ship's speed to only 3 knots. Johns could still see the land he had left behind from the porthole of his small living quarters below the deck. 

Although small, Johns' quarters were composed of a sleeping area, and - more importantly - an office fitted with a desk and several wooden shelves. Upon this evening, Johns sat at his desk, staring intently at a small book of parchment, in which he had written down the names of every ship he had ever seized. Guadaloupe, Fernanda, Rosalita... the list went on for several pages. Tomorrow, he would hopefully add the name Alejandra to the list. But for the first time in his life, Captain Johns wasn't sure that he even wanted to do so. Something had made him re-evaluate his life. Something had made him see where he was going wrong.

She made me a sail, whether I need it or not. If the winds get very bad, that sail could save my life. If not, at least she was thoughtful enough to have made it for me.  I could write the name of another ship on my list, or I could just go back to port, marry her, and have a real life. A life free of treasure and gold, but a life filled with love. All at once, a life flashed before his eyes: not his past, but his future. Abruptly, he got up from his desk and swept his hand violently across the top, knocking over a bottle of ink and upsetting a stack of parchment. His seized the book in his hands, and made his way to the deck, swaying with the motion of the ship, and trying desperately to keep his balance on the narrow staircase. 

He stood on the edge of the deck and tossed the book as far as he could into the ocean. It flew apart, some pages spilling into the water and others flying through the air. The empty covers sank to the bottom of the ocean, and came to rest - open and upside down - on the seabed, never to be seen again.

Heels clicking against the polished wood of the ship's deck, Johns made for the stern, his loose-fitting cargo pants billowing out in front of him, and the air biting at his exposed face. He could still see the land. He could outrun the storm if he turned back and made for the port. He climbed the rigging to the top of the mast, ignoring the heavy winds threatening to blow him off and land him in the ocean. Atop the mast was a small lookout point - a dangerous place to be even in calm weather. The storm was gaining on them, and from up here, Johns could see the waves whipping up and beating against the side of his vessel. 

He pulled his spyglass from a pocket and raised it to his eye, imploring the device to be strong enough to see back to the docks. He could see the streets, the one thousand or so run-down fisherman's houses, almost seeming to lean into the terrifying wind. But that was not where his interests lie. He tried to focus on the docks... and then suddenly he saw her. There she was, all blonde and windswept in her dress and coat. Still watching his ship, hours after it had left. 

He jumped down the rigging, landing heavily on his feet and almost losing his breath. He turned sharply and sprinted flat out to the bow of the ship. He hit the wheel running, his entire body slamming against it. He grabbed it with both hands and spun it with all his might. He had to turn the ship around. In front of him, the storm clouds taunted him. Behind lay the safe port... and Sarah-Jane. He continued to spin the wheel, until the ship had rotated 180 degrees. The he steadied the wheel and slumped over it, wiping sweat from his brow. His crew did not question him: he was the boss, of course.

That's right, Sarah-Jane thought, watching the ship sail back towards her. You belong with me, not swallowed in the sea. 

                                                                               ***

*The song was 'Swallowed in the Sea' by Coldplay. Please excuse any factual errors about 1700s pirates, I tried to be accurate with the help of Google, but it's not 100%. Credit also goes to the book I'm reading at the moment, Michael Crichton's Pirate Latitudes, for helping me get into this mindset. (The story is my own invention though, no plagiarism.)

Top Ten Things You Can Only Do At Festivals

As I attempt to assuage my Reading FOMO, I find myself thinking of all the crazy things festival-goers do. Whether it's donning a Superman onesie for an entire weekend, wearing a westuit so that cameras will focus on you during The Vaccines' set, or simply staking out the noodle bar in an attempt to meet All Time Low, festival people are the most interesting of the species.

So I've made a list of the top ten things one can do at a festival that would probably be frowned upon elsewhere. These are real things that I encountered, I witnessed each and every one, and took my own photos. Unfortunately since I needed photographic proof that each actually did happen at this year's T in the Park, so I had to leave off my favourite: relieve yourself on a poster of Liam Gallagher's face - because you always liked Noel better.

In no particular order, then:

The Killers at T in the Park 2013

T in the Park spanned three days, and The Killers were the final act on the last night. I'm doing things backwards again, so here are my thoughts on The Killers' show, stay tuned for the first two days, plus the rest of day 3... coming when I have the energy. 

I'm sure I'm good at a lot of things in life, but going to festivals is just not one of them. I braved camping at Reading last year (it's an experience everyone should have at least one - if nothing else, it makes you appreciate how soft and warm beds are...), but I was certainly not doing the same for this year's T. Luckily accommodation in Edinburgh was easy enough to find, and I'd take a 40 minute bus ride over a tent any day.

So day 3 arrived, and unlike the campers, I was still clean (imagine being able to leave the mud behind each night and have a shower, plus 7 hours sleep in a real bed - heaven!), well-rested, and in good spirits.

Day 3 was by far the busiest day: running from Earth, Wind and Fire (mom's choice) to the beginning of Bastille's set, then leaving halfway to get a barrier spot for Hurts, mad dash back to Two Door Cinema Club, quick break before Johnny Marr, and one Foals song before trying to sneak into the Stereophonics crowd for a good spot for TK, I really had my work cut out for me!

So it's mid-afternoon, and I find myself in King Tut's tent watching 1/4 of The Smiths, and thereby increasing my coolness factor to over 100, when I spot a familiar face: it's none other than Ted Sablay: touring guitarist/back-up vocalist/all-rounder with The Killers. Now before you tell me how cool that is, picture me wearing the following: my Victims t-shirt, lightning bolt necklace and earrings, a K and lightning bolt on each cheek in pink eyeliner, and a scarf (draped like a cape) bearing the same pattern as Brandon's starry shirt. Oh, and a feathered crown. I attempt to make myself look slightly more normal, which translates into whipping my 'cape' off and turning it into a belt instead. Hey, it's something. Anyway, after the set I went over to say hi to Ted and get a photo, and ended up walking with him for a few minutes - I told him how I'd come over from SA, and we chatted about Johnny Marr, Bernard Sumner, and the rest of the tour. What a cool guy!

The Stereophonics crowd was packed tightly at the front, but contained some huge gaps, and many people simply milling around. For the sake of tradition, I was headed for Mark's side, because that's just where I go at Killers shows. We managed to get right up to the front ... behind the metal fence on the side, where we couldn't even see the screens, let alone the stage. Luckily a lot of people cleared out after the Stereophonics' set, and we managed third row, just to the right of Mark, with a perfect view.

The show started late, and I began to panic that the set would have to be cut short, but the rest of the crowd was unconcerned. Now, maybe it was just the people around me, and not the crowd in general, but unfortunately it was one of the worst crowds I have ever been in. For example: girl at barrier sits down to pee on the spot; her friend slips in it and both fall over laughing; said friend of pee-ing girl offers drugs to girl to my right "it's not really drugs, you just put it on the inside of your lips..."; pee-ing girl asks me to move to let her friend get to barrier - I am left balancing on one foot because I have no space left; young girl to my left nearly bursts into tears when man next to her vomits on her and her friend; girl behind me is being held upright by her boyfriend, as she is literally unconscious from alcohol consumption. As I'm shoved from behind into the poor young boy in front of me, I growl "The Killers only have one song. It's called Mr Brightside. It's not that good. Please go see David Guetta [on the other stage] instead." This gets an uproarious laugh from the few people around me who are still possessed of sobriety.

Moving along...

Our flawless band bursts onto stage with Somebody Told Me (cue massive crowd reaction), Brandon decked out in his starry shirt, and all grinning from ear to ear. Looks like they LOVE Scotland. Next up is Spaceman, one of my favourites, but the number of people jumping is sadly low. Smile Like You Mean It excites the crowd again, and they break into a chant of what is apparently 'Whomp, there it Is', but from where I am, it sounds a lot like 'The Killers, The Killers, The mother****ing Killers!' Brandon's confused, but giggles his way through an Ole-ole-ole-ole chant, and a slow piano intro to Human (to a mass singalong), before exploding again with Bling. When Human does come along a few songs later, the crowd goes wild again: although most people don't know the words to any of the lesser known songs, they sure make up for it when the big hits come along. And boy, is Human a big hit!

At the first intro beats to 'From Here On Out', I immediately recognise it from Wembley, and shout out 'Mark, have you got your dancin' shoes on?' I then watch the woman to my left inch slowly away from me when Brandon says the same thing 10 seconds later. She thinks I'm possessed. Dustland, my very favourite song in the world, is up next, and I can't even sing along, because at that moment it hits me that I've flown across the world to see this wonderful band, and this is the song that made me love them. I'm completely overwhelmed.

The Travis cover, Side, goes down a storm too, as does All These Things. Again, people start leaving before the encore, so by now I'm second row. If we needed more proof that this band is the best live act in the world, the last two songs do it. When You Were Young and straight into the ridiculously epic Mr Brightside: I brace myself against the surge of the crowd and then allow myself to become absorbed into it. There is no dignity anymore: no trying to look presentable, no attempting to stand still to take a good photo, no hoping to not have your feet stamped on, and no death stares when you're hit on the head by yet another cup of what you hope is beer: there is nothing in this moment other than the band in front of you. All-consuming, all absorbing. Perfect.

And then they're gone, I'm asking the nice security guard to pick up a handful of fresh confetti for me, I'm shouting to Rob (who can't hear me) on the stage, and taking one last picture of the bolt. Then it's back on the bus to sleep until my plane leaves... another bus to the airport, attempting to revive myself at the airport but feeling like I've been hit by a bus... and then we glance out the window of the Edinburgh airport, and what do we see? The Killers' jet taking off, on their way to Italy to amaze yet more fans. There are no words.

Obsessive Fandoms: Where Do We Draw The Line?

I'm no fan of One Direction. Sure, you'll occasionally catch me humming along to 'What Makes You Beautiful', and I have been known to say I'd be willing to see them live as long as I had a bag with which to cover my head, but I'm no actually a fan. They exist, and I am more tolerant towards them than I am towards the likes of David Guetta, but I don't go out of my way to listen to them. That said, however, I do respect them a bit for becoming such a phenomenon, in an age where kids are so wrapped up in trying to be cool that they avoid becoming passionate about anything. I mean, what really separates these young 'Directioners' from my own Victims? As it happens, a lot.

I'm accustomed to almost daily One Direction Twitter trends, and usually I don't even understand them, so I pass directly over them. Much the same way as 90% of the world reacted when the Victims managed to trend 'Inclement Weather'. But hey, cool, the fandom has inside jokes. Carry on.

Anyway, yesterday a few tweets involving One Direction and The Who caught my eye. Seems The Boys used a little bit of 'Baba O'Riley' as the intro for their new song, the super-smartly named (#sarcasm) 'Best Song Ever'. I took it upon myself to have a little listen, and yes, the intro is exactly the same. And so I allowed myself to explore the tweets, and was shocked at what I found. Now, it's one thing to stand up for your favourite band, if anyone insulted The Killers within 5 miles of me, they'd get a punch to the face (I'm still holding a grudge against Zebra & Giraffe after almost 4 years, for one tiny insult). It's a whole other thing to send the opposition death threats. "I will kill you and your whole band!" read more than one tweet. Well, honey, 50% of The Who are dead already, so you'd not have a very large job on your hands. Perhaps even worse were the "Who are The Who?!" and "They're so much less famous than 1D lol no one even knows who they are." Tweets. I mean come on! If you're not British, I might let it slide, but these little UK citizens who don't know who The Who are?! But I digress...

Today's Twitter trend shocked me even more. #RIPLarryShippers was a trend from early this morning, and - under the assumption that Larry Shippers might be some famous but unfortunate soul - I clicked on it. Well. Turns out Larry Shippers is not a person at all, but rather a group of One Direction fans who 'ship' (imagine a relationship between) two of the members - Louis and Harry. The Twitter rumour goes on to say that some unknown number - ranging between 14 and 100 - of these fans killed themselves last night.

Just absorb that for a moment.

Done?

Okay, let's continue. Rumour has it that after a documentary about the 1D fandom aired, these kids got a bunch of online hate and killed themselves. Said documentary apparently portrayed the fans as crazy, obsessive kids who do nothing but stalk the boyband all day, every day.

Now firstly, no one should be bullying anyone about their taste in music AT ALL. You may ask if that's not exactly what I'm doing here, and the answer would be no. I am writing an exploratory opinion piece on fandoms. You go ship whoever the hell you want.

Secondly, I 100% believe that this is just a rumour. I mean really, if there had been some sort of mass teen suicide all citing the same cause, we'd definitely have heard about it by now, right? This leads me to my third, and most disturbing point: if these kids did kill themselves over this, it's awful, and horrible, and just not okay, but if it's just a rumour, perhaps it's just as bad. What kind of disturbed human beings would make up a rumour about such a thing? And if they did, what is the reason behind it? To get a Twitter trend?

I meant to write a post about how crazy some of the One Direction fans are, but halfway through I realised that I'd answered my own question posed at the beginning: how different are they from the Victims? Haven't I flown across the world to see my favourite band? Haven't I trawled the streets wondering which hotel they're in? Haven't I taken photos with their road crew? Haven't I stayed up to ridiculous hours of the night to watch live streams and take part in Twitter Q & As? Some might call that pretty obsessive, but to me it doesn't feel creepy. And I'm sure that to the kids in the documentary don't think they're doing anything abnormal.

So where do we draw the line? What is okay and what isn't? I have a few guidelines:

- You need other interests. If you obsess over just one band, you'll miss out on other seriously good music. Have your favourite, have that one band you'd do anything for, but love other things too.

- Don't Tweet them obsessively. You also need to have some kind of limit on what kind of online content is appropriate and what isn't.

- Respect their privacy. It's one thing to wait outside venues hoping to meet your favourites, but another to stalk their houses. (Says the girl who went to Coldplay's studio.)

- It is completely fine to say that music saved your life. Because sometimes it's true. But really, nothing is worth suicide pacts and cutting (Beliebers, I'm talking to you).

- Do it for the music. Love your favourite band members like they're your family, but remember that you're never actually going to marry them. Love them primarily for the music. (Says the girl who refers to The Killers as her children).

Actually, you know what, ignore me. I'm just as bad as the worst kids on that 1D documentary, aren't I? Screw it, go find Harry's house and tell him I say hi.

One Night In Cape Town: Yellowcard and One Deftones Song

By now we're super used to going to concerts in Cape Town - so used to it that we've become complacent. Going to a concert used to be a week-long hysteria fest, including a road/plane trip, a hotel room, and 5 or so hours worth of queuing. Now we simply pop down the road to the venue, don't even both with a "OMG 5 days to go" countdown on Facebook, and barely bother to analyse the band's tweets for possible creeping sessions. But none the less, a concert is a concert...

And so the day of One Night In Cape Town arrived (ie: Yellowcard day), and we left home a whopping hour and a half before gates opened, spent an hour of that in traffic, and then slowly ambled through Grand West to the arena, where we still managed to be close enough to the front of the queue to get a side barrier spot. Easy game.

First up: Manchester Orchestra, playing to all of three rows of standing crowd and absolutely empty seats. Ouch. But then, I'd only heard of them once before, and that was because some member of the Parlotones mentioned them in a tweet, and The Parlotones like The Killers, so they must have great music taste, right? Clearly I'm right, because the band isn't half bad, although I do miss a few songs by going on a search for Coke (of the legal sort)... note to self: please remember to eat on concert day next time.

So Yellowcard are on in approximately 20 minutes, and perhaps 50 more people have entered the arena. The rest are all chilling outside with their beers, waiting for Deftones, which is absolutely fine - it's the ones inside the arena that I have an issue with, but I'll get to that. Between sets, the playlist is composed of everything from Bring Me The Horizon, to Green Day, to Foo Fighers...yeah, just about every band I've seen live recently. Concert addiction, what concert addiction? I am completely normal.

Cue dimming of the lights, and Yellowcard hitting their first South African stage ... to the applause of about 5 people. Sometimes you're in a bad crowd, and you know it, but the band don't. This was absolutely not the case here.

"There are about 30 people asleep on the barricade..." Says lead singer, Ryan. My heart drops for him. The band have flown 16 hours to be here for this show, the least the crowd could do is at least look a little enthusiastic. Musicians don't owe you anything, they're not doing you any favours by being on stage in front of you, and the fact that you paid money to be there does not give you the right to act any way you want. I'm not saying you have no know all the songs, or sing along, but at least crack a freaking smile if you're at the barrier, and shout a clap just a little bit! I've been in the crowd for bands I wasn't 100% keen on, but it's really not cool to let the band see that you feel that way. They're the ones doing YOU a favour.

Despite Ryan's attempts to get the crowd to engage ("Do you want to be the only country that doesn't make a mosh circle?"), almost everything feel flat, and he ended up having to teach the audience the chorus of 'Here I Am Alive' so that they could attempt a sing-along. It was honestly and truly a disgraceful crowd. I can only hope that the few of us that did bother to look like we were having fun managed to make an impression.

Rockstar violinist Sean is certainly having the time of his life on stage, and we definitely make eye contact with the bass player because of Lauren's extensive Yellowcard lyric knowledge. Ha. He's totally impressed.

Their 13 song set including their well known songs (well, at least I thought they were the well known ones, you'd never have guessed...) 'Light Up The Sky' and 'Way Away' to newer releases including the super catchy 'Here I Am Alive' of course had to close with their biggest hit, 'Ocean Avenue'.

Yellowcard really are quite an interesting band: from the fact that they walked on stage to the Star Wars theme and their Yoda reference in 'Surface of the Sun', to the very existence of their rockstar violinist, they're unique and different, but in a cool way.

We manage to stick around for one Deftones songs, simply so that we can say "We've seen Deftones", before sneaking away. And yes, that is perfectly okay. We watched from the back and then left, instead of standing at the barrier and glaring at Chino. You don't like a band, you leave, end of story.

ABC Of Songs

So I just saw this trending topic on Twitter, and it's really something I can run with. What follows is not particularly a list of my favourite songs beginning with each letter of the alphabet, but rather an ABC of cool songs to check out - either forgotten favourites, new obsessions, or just songs I'm listening to at the moment. [Edit: I've just written about half my list, and all bar one have festival references. Sigh. I'm addicted.]

A) All This And Heaven Too - Florence + The Machine: I listened to this on the way to work today, and it's been stuck in my head ever since.

B) Back To Black - Amy Winehouse: Sometimes I hear 'Rehab' too often, and I forget that I actually liked Amy Winehouse. This is one of my favourites by her.

C) Caring Is Creepy - The Shins: Definitely my 5th favourite band in the world, this is the song they opened with at Reading last year.

D) (A) Dustland Fairytale - The Killers. Do I have to elaborate? This is the song that changed my life, I'm sure that says enough.

E) Everlong - Foo Fighters: When Dave Grohl and co. ended off Reading's set with this, I really did wonder if anything could ever feel this good again...

F) Film Noir - The Gaslight Anthem: I just love this entire album so much, I feel like it would make a great black & white movie, who's with me?

G) Grace Kelly - Mika: Oh so what if I have a few pop guilty pleasures here and there? I still love trying to reach these high notes!

H) Hometown Glory - Adele: I've not listened to this song for years, because it opens old wounds from my homesick first year university student days, but it's an undeniable masterpiece.

I) I Dreamed A Dream - Les Mis: Whether Anne Hathaway, Susan Boyle, or the cast of Glee sings it, I can't help but singing along to the overly dramatic "I had a dream my life would be so different from this hell I'm living."

J) Jilted Lovers & Broken Hearts - Brandon Flowers: The best song from his solo album, in my opinion. I also think that if he'd saved it for The Killers' next album, it would have been a #1 hit.

K) Keepsake - The Gaslight Anthem: This is in my top 5 songs of all time, the riff makes me want to melt into a puddle at Brian Fallon's feet.

L) Lover Of The Light - Mumford & Sons: I think Mumford & Sons have a great sound, even if it took me longer than usual to get into them. One question though: if they're so good, how did they get so popular?!

M) Monarchy Of Roses - Red Hot Chili Peppers: Opening song at Cape Town stadium, and forever forcibly reminding me of Downton Abbey due to my two obsessions beginning in the same week.

N) Nuclear Family - Green Day: Fresh from the surprise Reading set last year, this was the first song on !Dos that I really bonded with, and it's still my favourite on the album.

O) Oh My God - Kaiser Chiefs: A fitting ender to the Reading set... I truly had never been that far away from home.

P) Panic Station - Muse: I'm still holding out some hope that the band will let me direct a music video for this, set in a haunted London Underground station called 'Panic'.

Q) (The) Queen Of Lower Chelsea - The Gaslight Anthem: Promise this is my last Gaslight song! I'm not obsessed, it's just that not many songs start with a 'Q'! Alright, I'm obsessed.

R) (The) Rising - Bruce Springsteen: Emotive and uplifting yet still dark, this is without a doubt one of my favourite songs by The Boss.

S) Stop Crying Your Heart Out - Oasis: Sure, the Gallagher brothers are both a little nuts, but it's a great song, plus it reminds me of T in the Park and the mass sing along between sets.

T) There Is A Light That Never Goes Out - The Smiths: A bit depressing to say the least, but hey, at least Morrissey thinks that dying by my side would be heavenly...

U) Use Somebody - Kings Of Leon: Despite Caleb not liking it very much once upon a time, I'm sure my little Southern boys are more than happy that they decided to release this song after all.

V) Violet Hill - Coldplay: The first 30 seconds of this song were enough to make me sit up and take notice of Coldplay, and after the first minute, they were already my favourite band.

W) Walk The Line - Johnny Cash: It's about time my oldies country obsession was exposed. Johnny's probably the artist that I'm most sad I'll never get to see live.

X) X & Y - Coldplay: I don't even like this song that much, but according to my my only other option for this one was 'X-Kid' by Green Day, and I've never even listened to it.

Y) Yellow - Coldplay: The way this song kicks in just transports me to another planet. Beautiful, Chris, beautiful.

Z) Zombie - The Pretty Reckless. How sad that they dropped out of Reading this year. Oh wait, I'm not going to Reading this year anyway.