This is how nice it looks before
the audience comes and ruins it
Vicar St, Dublin
Dublin, land of my.... er. The venue is (relatively) obscenely luxurious (if frighteningly large) and bags of croissants and danishes await us among the leather sofas and sweeeet sweeet showers. It's like being in gig heaven.
MVB, Kerry and I wander down to Trinity College to have a look around. It's as if nothing had changed since the days of Joyce and Beckett (rain lashed streets the nights cool dark my bicycle bucking beneath me squeak squeak wheels on cobble salt on my lips her white face through smeared glass the tram rattling up George Street the urgent tick of my heart a clock striking midnight sweat speckled drunk on the steps below Kelly's Bar her eyes like the moon standing up on the pedals faster faster now breath steaming eyes streaming unsure alone among the dead eyed tenements rain lashed). Matt VB chooses to take a picture of a college rugby game in front of its only spectator, seemingly for comic effect. He's a man who has been busy with his camera over the last few weeks.
Dom is very happy because the stage is wide and tall, and he can create soothing submarine washes and epic starscapes. We are happy because the mirrorball is well out of the way.
The gig is very warm and civilised, especially when MVB and Dan bring us on lovely cups of tea in the middle (served in exclusive aqualung mugs). I think we'll keep that bit in.
This is how nice it looks before
the audience comes and ruins it
