Road to Marrakesh

Life has been a bit crazy for the last week. I’ve had all sorts of things going on and met loads of new and fascinating people. On Friday night I’d been invited to a private preview of a new gallery exhibition here in Nottingham. Unfortunately, I didn’t make it. I made the mistake of agreeing to meet up with someone beforehand at the Broadway and as ever, we just got sucked into the vortex and couldn’t get away in time to get to the showing. My apologies to the gallery owner - you know who you are. Later we went to a party held in a private members bar in the Market Square. This was an unusual experience for me because for once I wasn’t the oldest person in the room. It was quite strange really because I recognized the type of people as being of my era, but they didn't look like me. Some of them looked as if they were still living in the early 1970s – there were flowing skirts and beads, droopy moustaches and cowboy boots, even a tie-dyed t-shirt. And don’t get me wrong, this was no fancy dress party; these people were dressed in their everyday wear. This made me reflect on how the personal images of people in middle age tend to fall into three or four ‘types’. There’s the type of people who were at this party – still wearing what suits them best; things that remind them of their happiest times when they first set out on the long road of new promiscuity, marijuana and smoky-boozy pubs; a style not unlike Hideous Kinky I suppose. Then there are the types who conform because they always wanted to be like their mums and dads and who wear grey suits for going to work, and soft Cotton Trader woollens with chino trousers at the weekend. And then there’s me – a rather pathetic twat who dresses like a contemporary teenager (I even have a hoodie believe it or not), quite forgetting that he’s grown old and wrinkled and that there’s at least one – possibly two - generations separating him from most of the people he spends time with. I’m not sure that I really want to belong to any of these other ‘types’, but I don’t think I can go on as I am for much longer, so maybe I should create my own type and walk the streets decked out as a Regency Dandy complete with white silk stockings and a powdered wig. Yes, I think that would work very well.

Anyway, the rest of my weekend was spent attending a variety of other gatherings. After lounging around outside the Broadway on Saturday – a gathering that seemed to get more and more out of hand as the evening hurtled on, we went to watch Stiff Kittens (or rather to listen to them working the floor) at the 'Hot Tramp' event in the Market Bar. This was supposed to have been preceded by Beth’s birthday bash at ‘Enjoy The Ride’ but we didn’t make that unfortunately because the vortex was swirling again. However I did manage to get back to Muse Bar for the after party, but by this point the whole evening was getting out of control so I went home because the stray cat needed a saucer of milk, and it's nice when something needs you, isn't it?