I somehow missed Wolf Alice’s debut album when it came out. I’m firmly on board with the band now though.
After rehearsal, Tom Jack and I managed to hoover down four beers almost without thinking. Then, without eating, I went to Chelsea and met up with Ollie. He funds music so he can get tickets to these gigs for free. His girlfriend is in Paris so he asked me to come to watch Wolf Alice in Allie Pally.
Problem is Ollie is on a mission. And I’m working first thing in the morning. By the time we get to Alexandra palace we’ve necked a few more beers and I’m already perfectly drunk enough thank you. I’m watching the set, which is mesmerising. Very much my kind of music, and at one point in front of 10000 people she lets a young fan come up on stage to play her guitar riffs. Everyone around me in the audience is honking angeldust up their schnozzes. Strangers ask me if I want some. I don’t. Gradually their eyes get more and more stupid. Ollie appears out of nowhere with a pint of pink champagne. I know it’ll kill me but it goes down so well. Then there’s gin. Is that tequila? Who am I again? I go into the cubicle to make myself sick in order to try to gain some sort of perspective. Everything is swimming. I’ve not done that for some time, the fingers in the throat. Three people are in the cubicle next to me putting powder up their noses. I discreetly yark and they narrate it. Staggering out I’m told “That’s not cool bro.” I didn’t set out to be cool, darlings. And you can talk, with your dusty nostrils. I’m in survival mode. Back to the fray but it’s clear we aren’t leaving anytime soon. Musicians and producers network around me. I can’t network. It’s not my industry and I’ve almost lost the ability to speak in coherent sentences. I’m too far gone to realise I need food. Somehow I actually succeed in booking an uber. In retrospect I should’ve ghosted but I’ve been waiting for Ollie to be ready to leave as he asked that we stick together.
In the uber, Ollie is ringing various hotel bars trying to persuade them to let him come in for a drink. I tell him I have to go home but he’s on a mission. His energy is relentless. There must and will be oblivion. I ask the driver to pull over for a second and yark out the door which helps him get the sense he’s dealing with a casualty. Doubly tactical chunder. I haven’t been sick drunk for years. He gets out at a club and reluctantly allows me to carry on home. I write a blog somehow, comparing people to cows, and fail to schedule it properly. Then I pass out.
Friday night, kids. I think I preferred it when I wasn’t drinking. I got up this morning and humped a load of furniture around town for Carol, sweating death from every pore, unable to even keep coffee down. Then I had a pizza. Now? Now I’m off to a party. Pray for me.