Ten to midnight and we were back in our hotel room. What an evening! Planned for months. He didn’t disappoint.
The Beatles and subsequently Paul McCartney have provided the musical backdrop of our lives. I recall listening to them on the wireless with mam at the age of about seven or eight when we lived in Cardiff. When I was at school I bought the complete set of singles. Might have been the number ones. John Lennon died during my first year at university. I woke up on the morning of my 19th birthday to the news and took the day off classes to listen to the back to back Beatles broadcast all day.
I have most of the albums and many by Wings and have now seen Macca four times. Might be five. This gig will probably be the last we will see. At the age of 82 he has outlived most of his contemporaries. A real feat of longevity considering the sex and drugs and rock and roll age in which he flourished. There is hope for us all.
You can see why he still does it. Firstly he recognises a real clamour from his fans to see him perform. There was a bloke in the crowd at his 134th PM gig. Then there is the huge outpouring of love from the audience directed directly at him on stage. Twenty three thousand people singing his songs. Cheering. He was visibly affected. I was affected. Everyone was affected.
We had great tix. Row 12. Maybe 25m away. Just over the length of a cricket square. The sound was fantastic. The visual presentation amazing. I wish I could offer better adjectives. All a work of art. The fireworks and pyrotechnics for Live And Let Die had to be seen to be believed. You couldn’t have imagined it possible on an indoor stage.
That’s enough gough. Nananananananaa. Let it be. We went back to our hotel tired but happy.
THG and I go our separate ways this morning. She heads west to Liverpool to visit family and I east to recover from five full on days of partying. Truth be told, when left alone at home it is unlikely that I’ll be having quiet nights on the sofa. There will probably be wine…
Before then, stopping off at the field of Sheff for a spot of lunch with Andy and Will. Catch ya later.
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The sound of the trams. Clank n hoot.
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I suppose before the advent of the laptop I’d probably have sat on a train reading the paper, or conversing with fellow passengers, were they amenable or interesting. Both. In the 1st Class carriage on the Liverpool Lime Street to Cleethorpes Trans Pennines Express there is nobody else to talk to. I do have a book but I’ve already read it a few times and can’t be bothered for the moment
Earlier, coat clad commuters scurried by the window of the hotel breakfast room bound unsmiling for their place of indenture. Inside the restaurant I passed a table a few times where two businessmen discussed, business: “clear brief to the RMs”, “ready to launch in January”. On another pass a laptop was open with an upside down pyramid on show with the word BRAND jumping out of the page. Curiosity peaked, I glanced momentarily in their direction at which point the talker paused in his stride before momentum took him forward.
Johnnies in the basement mixing up the medicine.
The slow train trundles. Picking up speed seems to be a gradual thing. No sudden jerks pushing passengers back into their seats in coach G for G Force. My seats reservation is for coach C but there is no coach C. The train network around here seems to have a certain sadness to it. A malaise that contrasts with the model sheep filled countryside through which the engines roar. Church spires command drystone hillsides. Evidence of industry through valleys veins.
The anonymous hamlet of Chinley rolls effortlessly by, briefly in our thoughts but long forgotten.
We’ll meet again someday, on the avenue, tangled up in blue.
Tiny walkers step steadily along the river meadow below.
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Sat at an out of the way table in the Sheffield Tap. Near enough to the bar to make it convenient. The train news is not so convenient. The next two trains to Lincoln have been cancelled. This means that the 16.38 will be heaving. The one after that is also cancelled. I have no choice although there is a transport of last resort called taxi. At least I’d be able to kip in a taxi.
Not getting a good vibe about trains in this part of the world. Makes me think LNER are actually quite good.
I am drinking Virtuous beer. This is the name of the brew and not an adjective suggesting it has high moral standards. An example of a virtuous person suggested by google is “she considered herself very virtuous because she neither drank nor smoked”. Doesn’t seem consistent with beer but tbh google is just an algorithm. You should make up your own minds on the subject. I have. I’m on my second pint.
It’s quite interesting to watch people coming in to the ub. Most of them are en route somewhere though the occasional local makes an appearance. There is a large selection of ales and to watch an individual bloke walk up to the bar and order a specific beer feels culturally important. It’s what blokes do. Not all blokes. Just the generic bloke. Feels right. Certainly in a real ale pub in Sheffield. If this was a wine bar or a trendy bar in the South that would be different.
Bloke just walked in carrying one of those short woolly jacket/coats. It probably has a name but I know not. Girlfriend with him. They are smiling and having a good time.
Good job this is not Christmas Eve. Would be a nightmare trying to get home then. Stranded in Sheffield railway station. Someone would definitely have to bite the bullet and drive over to pick me up. THG I guess. She would be happy!
Anyway this is not Christmas Eve and I am not yet stranded. There is at least one train that will get me home. Wouldn’t be quite so bad if I was a little more mobile and able to cope with the push and shove of fighting my way on the train, barging little old ladies aside, to secure a seat, trampling over kids etc.
Feels as if the light is starting to fade outside. 4pm. 16:00hrs. Yanow. Thirty more minutes sat in the pub before I’ll look to moving to the platform. Will defo be dark by then. Deep midwinter. As long as I get a seat I’ll be ok.
Bespectacled young woman in combat trousers and a backpack enters, strides purposefully to the bar and studies the beer selection, leaning forward eyes slightly focussed. A man tries a sample of a beer and then orders a half pint. Fair enuff.
White haired old geezer in red and black lumberjack jacket has come in. He is either wearing a flat cap or beret. Can’t quite make it out and he has taken it off now that he is inside.
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Sheffield to lincoln train rammed but I have a seat with a table and an empty seat next to me
Big crowd of people stood on platform but I asked member of staff where was best to stand and he pointed at an empty 15 m at the front. I was first on the train. It’s what you know innit.
Now tucking in to a (small) can of Thornbridge Jaipur 5.9% with a (small) packet of Pipers Cheddar and Onion crisps and listening to Sting Sending Out an SOS. Police. Seems unlikely I’ll be abel to make it to the on train toilet near term so I’ll have to take that into consideration when deciding on how many cans to open. No idea how many of these travellers are going all the way to Lincoln and therefore how busy the train will continue to be.
Sbeen a different to normal day. I will survive.
When you are on a train from Sheffield to Lincoln all life is here. If only I could take a pic of everyone. Girl with false eyelashes, fake fur coat and a pink shopping bag with “LOVE” on the side. No idea who most of these people are or what their lives are like. What is a good life? Couple of musicians got on at Shireoaks. One with a guitar hard case and one with two soft jobs – one on his back and one in his hands.
The next station is Worksop. Fwiw. Enormous woman getting off here. She looks neither comfortable nor happy.
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We went to see a musician. His songs represented what he was doing in life at different stages of his life.