Tuesday, 14 December 2010

When we're dancing, bones get broken, when we're dancing, hearts get broken

What a brilliant few days.
Despite a week of relinquishing any slight social life in favour of sitting in my oversize man shirts knee deep in fevered scribblings and scraps of highlighted paper and really old books and limitless cups of coffee in attempts to tame Shelley, Arnold and Bronte and coerce my tired brain and fingers into producing a semi decent essay, this extended weekend made up for it all in one fell swoop.

After a painful and awkward incident in the middle of the week, I was really counting on this weekend to make everything okay in my world.
Luckily, it delivered.
Saturday was a flurry of being around wonderfully talented musicians and amazing old friends. Playing music to an audience for the first time in an age, with my lucky shoes and gorgeous wine coloured cardigan gave me the rush of adrenaline and happiness I think I hadn't realised I needed. After three other amazing sets from bands with alarming amounts of talent, we were out til four dancing to 70s soul and disco classics before walking through a beautiful city in the cold, crisp air.
(Also, seeing Mills lifting his head off his pizza box to sing us some Rihanna was one of the most beautiful moments of my tender young life. I'm still wondering if I've ever seen anything so funny.)
Then I had one of the most perfect evenings for a long time. After a rude awakening, acquiring a cat called Mo and a chip buttie (buttie? butty? Hell knows) we walked hand in hand through the Christmas market, with a large creamy hot chocolate to a cute faux-Asian cocktail bar to reminisce about Um Bongo and laugh til we were hurting.
Last night was just a wonderful mess. Brilliant people (by brilliant I mean both talented and lovely), kitschy bars, heartfelt confusion and whisky shots.

But now I'm wondering if it's been brought on or augmented and twisted by the melancholy beats of Tellison's EP, but I'm re-reading Matthew Arnold's 'The Voice' and remembering the whole thing, and the first time I read it feeling a little lost and looking out over city lights and I can't remember reading a sadder poem in all my life.

I lay down next to other peoples lines, and hoped that I was right. Oh, collar bone, you put punctuation marks on all my clothes.

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