Voice in the Crowd

In a rare moment of cheeky childlessness Mummy and Daddy M prevailed upon the good will and baby sitting powers of both sets of parents in order to go and see Marillion 3 times (or in fact 4 in the case of Daddy M) last week. I like to think that by spending a few evenings away listening to quality music we will return as better parents :) Olivia took the whole thing very well, although I've seen her eyeing up the phone a few times and I'm sure she is going to wait till my back is turned and then phone social services.

For those of you not familiar with the great wonders of Marillion check this and this out.

Marillion Weekend - Sunday and Monday

We spent the early hours of Sunday morning in the market place. There was a big thing going on in the pub with a (by all accounts) excellent Beatles tribute band playing. However, we were old men and women and our feet ached from standing all day and we elected to go somewhere quieter for a few drinks. In the end, I think I only had two and then went to bed.

I awoke to find a text message from K thanking me for the book. It was her birthday and I had found an enormously heavy collected novels of Jane Austen, (complete with illustrations that I hope were from the original prints of the books, but which frustratingly gave no clues as to their provenance). Her main present was a charm bracelet, but since I wouldn't trust me (and K___ most certainly wouldn't trust me) to choose jewellery, she was very much aware of the fact she was getting that!

Sunday lined up much as Saturday had, but with two key differences; the quiz was on the main stage with the winners of the pub quiz vs the band, and then the final merch shift involved counting up and packing the remaining merch and getting it back onto the 18 wheeler.

As I walked down to the 'Market Dome' where merch was based, I called K___ to wish her a happy birthday, and she filled me in on what her sisters had bought her and how Olivia was doing. She was fine, although K___ was finding it hard to cope once her mother retired for the evening. Again, I felt bad for not being around, even if it was with full approval. I made a promise to make up for it next year and now I've put it up here, I can be held to it too!

En route to merch, and with time to spare, I was fortunate enough to run into an American couple who had got engaged on the main stage the previous night and was able to interview them about the charity they run to support victims of Cambodian land mines through their college education. It was an inspiring story, and their words certainly made me think about how lucky Olivia was to grow up in a country where she doesn't have to contend with those sorts of challenges, to a family who loves her. Mind you, that won't stop her claiming that she wishes we weren't her parents when she gets to her teenage years, I don't expect!

The first merch stint was quite smooth and it didn't seem long before we were heading off for a quick briefing session before the quiz. I had to run back to my chalet to get my iPod on which were the messed-about-with sound clips that would be one of the rounds. Once back, we ran over the questions with the two chaps presenting the quiz, A___ and J__, and J____ who would do the scoring. I'd done it last time, in 2005 and hadn't really enjoyed the experience, so I was glad that although I would still be on stage, it would be hidden at the back, and just to operate the iPod when required.

A___ and J__ were great; they were funny and engaging and despite a rather embarrassing incorrect answer that hadn't been picked up by any of us, it went well. Everyone cheered when the band won a convention quiz, I think I'm right in saying, for the first time. Afterwards, there was a brief Q&A session and then the whole thing was over and rather sooner than we had anticipated. This was a bit of a result as it gave those of us on merch time to grab a meal before the 'load out'. As we left the main stage, we were astonished to see some people filing out of the exits only to start queuing for the evening show, some four hours hence. Personally, I can't understand that attitude. I'm a freely-admitted geek when it comes to this band, but there are limits, for God's sake!

Once we got to merch, we set about counting up the remaining stocks of each t-shirt design. Fortunately, we didn't have to count the CDs and DVDs otherwise it would have taken three times longer. Once the doors finally closed, we reported the numbers to the Merch Queen (G____) and sealed 'em up to be chucked into cages. Then there was a bit of an arse-up. The rep from Center Parc's came up and told us that the kitchens were overwhelmed and the cooks had refused to let the merch team drag heavy cages of merch through their kitchens. This was a rather major problem, since this was the only route by which we could get the merch down from the first floor in the service lifts. To wait meant that we might miss the show and none of us wanted that. G_____ negotiated that one person would be allowed into the kitchens and we managed to get the stuff out albeit a little more slowly than we had planned. Once downstairs, we made our way to the back of main stage and hefted it all up into the back of the 18 wheeler that was ready to receive the backline and lighting rig as soon as the show ended.

There was enough time to see the support band, but tired again (my feet have never ached so much!), we opted for a sit down and a beer in the pub instead. After that, I texted K___ to say that I hoped Olivia had been good and that I was looking forward to being home the next day.

The show was amazing. In some respects, it wasn't the most imaginative of setlists, but only because the band knows all too well what its 'big guns' are. Playing two slabs of Fish-era material only made the crowd even happier and we all sang along lustily for two hours until the final encore, and off the cuff reprise of Hocus Pocus that sent the crowd wild.

Afterwards, it was another night in the slightly more chilled out bars of the Market Zone, rather than the pub and an earlyish one at that. Our bus back to Amsterdam wasn't due to leave until 11, but even so, I packed up a lot of my things before I retired.

The next day, I awoke at about seven thirty and grabbed a shower before cooking myself some breakfast and collecting my things. An employee walked past as I was dumping our rubbish in the recycling bins and told me that we had to be out of the chalets by 10:30. Well, I was okay, but I knocked on next door but one's door to let the others know the score.

The coach trip in was fine. A chap sitting opposite me entertained us all with a tale of how he'd gone for his flight in shoes that had fallen apart and his doomed attempts to fix them with Sellotape. Once at Schipol, we had a good meal with a couple of mates and then it was a big 'ol wait. Fortunately, we bumped into fans everywhere we turned and had some good chats before eventually heading to the departure lounge and the flight home. One result was that I had expected to have to give S____ and V___ a lift home, but as luck would have it, another fan was going past their door, so I was free to head for Grantham.

Now, I am a rationalist, and I don't believe in fate, but if I did, I would have kicked her in the teeth for the evil stunt she pulled on the way home. I was making good time along nice clear roads when I came near to the junction with the M1, at Kegworth. Where I stopped. And waited. A long time. Roadworks on the junction had reduced it to one lane and rather than employ some sort of traffic filtration system (there is a magic system with the wacky name of 'traffic lights' that would have worked a treat) but apparently that was too obvious. Or something. It took an hour and ten minutes to drive fifty yards to the roundabout and get to the exit straight across. Very poor form.

I pulled up in Grantham at about half past eleven at night, worn out. K___ and I had a giant hug and I think she may have told me that I'm never doing that again. I won't lie about the Weekend and say it was crap to spare K___'s feeling. It wasn't crap and she knew it wouldn't be. It was amazing. However, it was also really hard, and so I'm pretty certain I agreed. We sat in the lounge and K___ filled me in on what I'd missed, but eventually, I had to go and see Olivia. 'She hasn't changed,' said K___.

I walked upstairs and opened the bedroom door as quietly as I could. The light from the landing was enough to see by and I could tell that K___ wasn't telling the truth. I know it wasn't deliberate, but simply because she'd seen Olivia every day, but she was different. Rather unexpectedly, she looked much more like me than she had before I left! I was amazed that she could remind me of the photos of me as a child. It must have been the light or something though, because I haven't noticed it in the same way since. She seemed so much more substantial. She couldn't be that much larger than the last time I'd seen her, but she certainly seemed to be!

I didn't wake her up. I knew it wouldn't be long, and I was right. Three o'clock. 'Welcome home, Daddy; I've got a dirty nappy.'

It was good to be back.

Marillion Weekend - Saturday

Just before nine the next morning, I headed off for a short stint on the merch stand with the rest of the Web UK. The rush must have come the previous evening as it never got to an unmanageable level. At one point, we were all able to stand back and eavesdrop on one of 'Team A' as he flourished a messenger bag at a potential punter with the words, 'Now, I don't really need to sell this bag to you, as it sells itself...' He got a round of applause from the entire room for his skillz!

As we headed off to the large venue where we were to hold the now traditional pub quiz, I received the following:

Floodgates open.
Rivers of poo.
Five so far today.
Bet you wish you
were here!

Nice! But a part of me did want to be there. Text messaging is very useful and a boon for sure, but it's nothing like being there. I had half a worry that, with Olivia being not even three weeks old, during my five days away, she'd forget about me.

The quiz was incredible, and I don't say that simply because a few of the people who assisted in doing the marking read this blog, but because it's never gone so smoothly before. The venue was better, the PA was clear, we had the marking down to a fine art and we even slipped in a few funnies that actually got laughs! The team that won are our mates, and won the previous convention's quiz too, but it wasn't a fix; they're just really anoraky. We've come up with a way to ensure they don't win the next one by getting them to set the questions. They've already said they want to do a round called 'Whose Fart Is It Anyway' in which they play Marillion songs on a keyboard loaded with a sample of someone breaking wind... It'll be a scream.

After another shift on the merch, there was time to get a quick change of clothes and head off for the evening show . First though, there was just time for a medicinal pint with G_____ and A___ who co-ordinated the merch organisation and some chat about Olivia. I don't think it was even me that brought her up either, but I was glad to speak about her. It's lovely how of our friends have embraced Olivia. I don't just mean cooing and saying she's beautiful (though she certainly is) but taking to G_____, it was very touching to hear how even our friends who don't want kids for themselves have felt an attachment to her and how they are looking forward to meeting her.

The theme for Saturday's show (we missed the support band again) was 'covers and rarities'. I wasn't struck with all of the covers, to be honest, but it was only a couple of tracks in a setlist full of never & rarely played numbers and some choices that were absolute genius. Keane's Bedshaped was one - it was the standout track on their first album anyway and the addition of guitar made a great song even better.

Their own The Bell in the Sea was a track that many fans had been requesting for a long time and it was wonderful to hear it, and ditto two tracks from the era of their first singer, Fish; Blind Curve and the Warm Wet Circles trilogy (even if there was no singing on the first part, Hotel Hobbies, for some reason).

It was none of these tracks that made the biggest impression on me. It was a track by a band that I am to a large degree indifferent; REM. I sometimes feel that I should like REM, but most of the time, I feel about them much as I do about the UK's similarly lauded The Smiths; great band, but the singer's voice makes me want to punch myself in the face until unconsciousness ensues...

Possibly, then, it was just the change of singer that did it, because the Marillos did a pretty faithful cover version of Everybody Hurts (which I freely admit is a great song anyway, with no caveats attached) but all I know is that I started thinking about K___ and Olivia and how I was missing them. In my mind's... I was going to say 'eye', but I suppose 'my mind's finger' is probably more accurate, however stupid it may sound... so, in my mind's finger, I could feel Olivia's tiny cheek under my touch, specifically when she is crying and I'm attempting to soothe her. I suppose I lost track of the song to a large extent, but by the time it reached the final chords, there were silent tears running down my cheeks and try as I might, I couldn't stop for much longer than I would have preferred. Hugs from various friends, L___, V____ and S________ were much appreciated.

My friend M___ later said he'd been crying too as had quite a few others. It's difficult to reveal that a song has made you weep, not least because of 'real men don't cry' fucktitude, and also because saying, 'Marillion played a song and it made me cry' rather invites 'I would probably feel the same way if I had to listen to one of their songs'* but I'm not ashamed.

The rest of the set was in a slightly more up-tempo vein and lead singer Steve Hogarth coming out for a cover of Abba's Money Money Money in drag had the crowd in tears of laughter. A cover of the greatest and most daft prog song ever, the wonk-eyed monster that is Hocus Pocus by Focus was the set ender we could never have hoped for, but it was slightly marred as K___ (and other missing girlfriends from our group) really should have been there for it. The crowd went mad, especially the Cloggies, as Focus were/ are Dutch.

Again, a completely wonderful day, but there was that big hole in it again.

* Incidentally, if anyone is intrigued to actually hear this band that I keep banging on about, you might want to check out their Crash Course cds. As long as you're not already on their mailing list, they'll send you a free eight track CD full of gems. I won't promise it's for everyone, because it isn't, but if you appreciate well-crafted, excellently played and emotive rock music, then please check 'em out - and let me know what you think!

Marillion Weekend - Thursday & Friday

As inferred in the previous post, I am back from the Marillion Weekend in Ouddorp in the Netherlands.

I left Grantham for Birmingham International Airport early on Thursday. It was hard. In fact, it was harder than I thought it would be - and I thought it would be fucking hard. As I said before, K___ and I haven't been apart for five days since... Christ knows when. Not even in the early days of our relationship can there have been many days when we didn't see each other at least twice a week.

I felt guilty for going, despite having permission. This came not least from knowing that I would have a great time with few responsibilities whilst K____ was having to cope with Olivia without me. I know her family were on hand, but it wasn't about whether they could cope with changing a nappy or feeding her a bottle. It would have been much easier if the weekend had been something that K___ wouldn't have enjoyed so much herself.

Before I left, I told K___ that if she needed me back all she had to do was ask and I would find a way to get back, no questions asked, but she was adamant that she wouldn't need to do it.

It wasn't a bad journey to Birmingham, and I soon hooked up with the rest of the Web UK, the Marillion fan club, for a lot of hanging about in the airport - never great fun. After a slightly delayed flight, there was further frustration due to fog in the Netherlands when we had to do a lot of stacking over Amsterdam's Schipol airport. Once we finally got down onto the tarmac, I sent K___ a text to let her know we had got to the Netherlands unscathed. After a quick booze stop in a supermarket in the airport, we bundled onto a minibus. Our driver seemed nice enough but he was tailgating the car in front which, given the speed we were travelling at and the foggy conditions, makes me suspect he must have a strong belief in the afterlife.

After a miraculous failure to die on a Dutch motorway, we got into the venue at about 10.00-ish. We dropped our bags into our remarkably well-appointed chalets (including saunas, no less (not that we ever had time to use them!)) and headed back to the reception to assist with the preparations for the arrival of the punters the next morning. After a couple of beers in the early morning, it was time for bed, and I certainly slept well.

The next morning, after a quick shower, I checked my phone to discover the following text:

She was up at two and
four. Thought she might
have poo nappy so changed
her and she did a wee on
everything. No poo at all
yesterday.

I texted back to say not to worry, and I was sure everything would (literally) work itself out.

Friday was quite an easy day, all things considered. The Web UK formed 'Team B' on the merchandise stall. Initially, I manned a table stacked high with end-of-line t-shirts in various designs and sizes, three for £20. As the venue, a Centre Parcs, is in the arse-end of fuck all, an awful lot of the punters were coming in by coaches from Schipol or Rotterdam. This was quite good as it broke up the people coming into the merch hall into easily dealt-with numbers. I've seen Marillion fans trying to get at the new merch before, and they can be like Great White Sharks at a synchronised swimming competition*, so having them separated into smaller groups was good for us!

Although no one was formally counting, we decided to draw gates on a cardboard box to track our sales, and it wasn't long before we cleared a couple of grand. Given we weren't even manning the tables selling new stuff, it was a good sign. Mind you, we stopped keeping a tally after that.

After our shift was up, we got a sneak peak at the stage, located in a "semi-permanent erection" (aka a large tent). It certainly looked good; nice and high with lots of lighting up in the gantries, and Porcupine Tree's Arriving Somewhere but Not Here coming out of the PA suggested the front of house sound was going to be pretty good. After that, I ended up helping move a flight case from the backstage area to a nearby chalet. It contained the artifacts for the Marillion Museum. I never got to see what was put out this year in the end, but reports are that it was well received.

I'd stuffed a load of blank A4 into my pocket as G_____, the Merch Queen, had mentioned during our morning shift that she could really use some. As I headed over to merch, I got a call on my mobile saying merch was swamped and could we help. The steady trickle of punters was replaced by a mob they were having trouble subduing. We decided that with most of the three-for-£20 quid t-shirts gone, we could turn our side of the room into a cash-only point of sale and were soon adding fistfuls of 'Toytown Dollars' into the cash box.

As we waited for a meal in 'Sharkey's Restaurant' that evening, I got my second text message of the day:

Hello Daddy,
I did a poo.
Love Olivia X

It made me laugh so much, that I forced everyone else to read it too! I texted Olivia back - she was using K___'s phone - to ask if it was a runny one, and to enquire whether she had wiped it everywhere for Mummy, but I was informed it was nice and neat and anyway Grandma had dealt with it.

er... Moving on. We don't need anymore poo-related incidents on this blog.

The first show was a preview of five of the tracks from the new album Somewhere Else (released 9th April) followed by a run through their 1997 album This Strange Engine. The title track is, rather appropriately for this blog, a song about fatherhood. Specifically, it reads as an autobiography of lead singer Steve Hogarth's life and his realisation in light of the births of his own children of his father's sacrifices on his son's behalf. It's long been one of my favourites in a catalogue of gems and the performance that evening was sublime. Guitarist Steve Rothery performed the second, achingly poignant guitar solo so perfectly that the band was forced to vamp over a couple of chords as the crowd gave a five minute ovation in mid song. It was 'a moment'; and you could see people looking at each other and giving slight nods of the head to acknowledge this was something that didn't happen often.

My words cannot hope to capture how special it felt to be a tiny part of this act of communion between band and audience. Perhaps the DVD - the shows were filmed - will do the job, but I suspect that it won't be the same. I remember feeling the lack of K___ particularly keenly at that point.

She would have loved it and I missed her.


* whatever that's like...

Leaving on a Jet Plane

There were these photographs, from about a week ago. They were of Olivia lying in her cot and for some reason I'd managed not to get much baby into each shot.

They weren't great, but I was looking over the photos we'd taken and I couldn't help but notice that they looked like photobooth shots, like you can use on a passport, and it also looked as though she'd had trouble spinning the seat up to the right height, so I bunged 'em into Photoshop and put a frame round 'em.

It also looks like she's done a furtive glance each way and then flicked someone the Vs.

Of course, you can tell that they're not really passport photos.

I'm going away tomorrow. I'm going the Marillion Weekend in the Netherlands. I should be as happy as a pig in the proverbial about it. I am happy. Going to see my favourite band play three shows in three days, plus supports and socialising with our friends, c'mon, of course I'm happy. I'm very happy.

There is a 'but'. K___ and Olivia won't be coming. We've known they wouldn't be coming for ages, but it's going to be hard. K___ and I haven't been apart for five days ever, and more importantly, it was at one of the Marillion Weekends that we met. We've only ever spent a day apart since we started living together and to add to how bad I feel, it's her birthday on Sunday. I feel like such a heel.

Making it harder is leaving Olivia behind and knowing that K___ is going to have to deal with things. She's going to be at her mum's in Lincolnshire, so she'll have loads of support, but that won't make it any easier for either of us.

Olivia probably could have come, as in they would have allowed a baby on the site, but the problem is that you need a passport before they can travel abroad. That's right. A newborn baby needs a passport. Babies are known for their tendencies to commit dangerous acts upon planes, aren't they? It's obviously sensible and necessary and definitely not completely fucking absurd and nope, I haven't noticed any freedoms being infringed in the name of terrorism prevention either*...

Even if it didn't take more weeks than she's been alive to process an application for a passport, the photos above wouldn't be any good. She's not smiling, which does meet one stipulation, but they also have to be able to see both ears...

* Hark at my sophisticated satire about "The War on Nouns", eh? Eat your heart out, Rory Bremner.