I'm tired, but happy. Well, mainly happy. Had a few moments of dangerously extreme piss-off thanks to an almost 13yo who had not done nearly enough work on his PDHE assignment which is due tomorrow. His father shouted; he shouted; I spoke loudly and mediated. I suspect part of my son's obnoxious 'tude is owing to having spent the night at a friend's house and crawled into his sleeping bag at an ungodly hour. I ended up helping him come up with pros and cons for Skype, email and sign language. My legal background gave him a beaut pro for Skype-style technology: it is handy in court cases when a witness is overseas, or a child who might be overwhelmed giving evidence in a court of grown-ups (this sort of technology has been used for a long time). I didn't do PDHE when I was a kid, it was called Personal Development. We didn't have to worry about social media as we hit adolescence and had to contend with hormones and anxiety en route to adulthood. We were told to leave the room to pass gas (our teacher was American, so she called it passing gas), and had to draw a female reproductive system. Although I have considerable sketching skill, mine still ended up looking like the front-on view of a cow's skull lying in the desert, long bleached white by that harsh, unforgiving firey ball of helium and hydrogen and whatever else (I can't quite remember and my son isn't sure - I've just asked him) that constitutes the dwarf star that gives us light and life. We had to watch a film with rudimentary diagrams of a penis going into a vagina, and there was this group of puerile girls laughing themselves stupid, their faces glowing like fluro-pink highlighter pens.
I am tired because Mr Bingells and I travelled to Newcastle last night to watch (oh, swoon!) my favourite childhood band, The Sweet. Many of my friend are aware, and I will now make all my new readers aware, my first ever crush was on the guitarist Andy Scott. And he is still in the band, albeit the only original member. When I told people my intended plans to see the concert, I was often met with comments along the lines of, 'My God, are they still playing?' 'Shit, they're old!' Now here is my theory, and one which holds much water: you don't keep doing live gigs and touring for the length of time they have without putting on a bloody good show. And they did not disappoint. We were three rows from the front, and I hadn't seen this current line-up (last time I saw them was 1993, although the drummer might have been there at the time). I had to chuckle watching the drummer because he reminded me of that cat who plays the drums in the opening credits of the old cartoon from ABC 'The Cattanooga Cats'. You can You Tube the opening credits. I am rather embarrassed to admit I have done such a thing, but claim the writer's defence of 'research'. The drumming cat is this corpulent looking creature who pounds the skins with this totally full-on grin on his face and his eyes closed. I only draw this analogy because Bruce the drummer last night was smiling cheerfully all the through the gig. The drumming Cattanooga Cat actually looks a bit like it's off its tits on some pharmaceutical substance; Bruce just looks cheerful, and his solo was great. I'm a chick, and should therefore not like drum solos, but I enjoyed it last night. The usual keyboardist was not on this tour as his wife was gravely ill (someone told me today she has passed away; very, very sad), and so another guitarist/keyboardist has stepped up to the plate for the Australian tour, and he was fantastic, and a really good singer, too. Also, he had charisma coming out his ears. And, oh dear, I found myself crushing majorly on him. (If you're reading this, mate, you're a babe). Now, the first time I ever saw my childhood idols live was in 1986 (I was last night brought to Earth with the realisation that I am now about ten years older than what they probably were when I first saw them that evening at Selinas). I also saw them at the Tivoli, and was in the front row. The front man they used in the 80s actually wriggled his eyebrows at my in a flirtatious manner during one of the songs, and I naturally believed myself to be the duck's nuts because of this. Yesterday, I discovered he is actually living and working (as well as performing) in Newcastle now, and he was a guest during one of the numbers, and he was electrifying. It did occur to me to squeeze my way to the front and see would he recognise me. Ahem. And Andy proved to us again why he is one of the greatest rock guitarists of the Seventies.
Oh, and I got up and danced during 'Peppermint Twist'. I actually did it. And I guess the healthier eating plan and more regular exercise I have adopted has paid off; I was able to twist my hips and do a 'One, Two, Three, Kick!' and NOT finish the evening by staggering out of the venue wheezing like an asthmatic bull dog.
Even the trip home was great, along the newly opened Hunter Expressway. What was not so great was running over a tyre that had been thrown by a semitrailer (it was off to one side of the road, hazards and lights blinking like a Christmas tree), which has fucked over our bumper bar.
To bed, perchance to dream (if not of Hugh Jackman, then of more awesome Sweet gigs). Oh yeah, and the did 'Wig Wam Bam', so I was a happy woman.
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