Again: Recollections by Corinna who is NOT really into Morrissey but came along anyway.....
 

...We finish our Irish Coffees and with my head high up in the clouds stagger down the road towards Limerick’s university.
The place is still very empty when we get there and we have some trouble finding the right door to get in through. It’s a strange place and very obviously is closely linked to the university. The whole foyer which is several stories high is covered in paintings and pictures, most of them looking rather horrible. One of the given studies must have been called ‘self portrait’, which gives the interested visitor a great idea about who’s responsible for the decoration around.
In the middle of the huge room is a make-shift bar. It’s one of those fold-up-and-move-around things and it looks very much out of place here. More so when you compare the look of the waiters behind the bar with how the concert goers look like. Definitely another odd venue, but then again that’s nothing new on this tour. I’m still convinced that, because of the absence of a record company for both, Morrissey and Sack, and then consequent lack of promotion cash, Morrissey tried to book himself into rather uncommon, thus cheap(er) venues. I also still think that this is a great concept – especially if, like on this tour, it seems to pay! – but it definitely gets you to see a whole lot of weird places…
Well, the strangeness of the bar shall not stop us from having another drink so here we go!

When we pick up our tickets from the box office (which is no problem, especially as the lady who I assume to be Morrissey’s PA, and who has seen us often enough to recognise us, is sitting behind the counter) our fears are confirmed: Tonight we are faced with an all-seated venue. Worse still, we got seats way at the back of the place. I mean, I’m not so much complaining about our free tickets not being the best in the house, I’m much more appalled and irritated by this all-seated crap! What’s the idea of going to a concert? Sitting still, getting bored and slumbering off? No, most certainly not! Even at the age of almost 30 I still believe that concerts are mainly about dancing and jumping around! So what’s this bullshit about sitting down…
Still sitting in the foyer, sipping our second bottle of beer each, we get fully aware of the attitude of this place: Some official guy is using the venue’s PA to tell everyone how they are not allowed to bring any bottles into the venue. Great!
Stepping inside – and being very surprised that Elsbe is allowed to take her courgette inside! – it’s just the same. A lady in a white blouse – help! Where are we? – is guiding us to our seats. And no-where else!!! There’s a few people standing right in front of the barrier and I wonder whether they all got front row seats and are thus allowed to stand kind of in front of them, e. g. at the barrier? I doubt it?
When the lady in the white blouse isn’t looking for an instant, I lean over to whisper to Elsbe: “If you want to be in the front row, the dash to make is now!” – “Are you coming?” she asks. “I don’t really want to,” I say. I’m still wearing Elsbe’s woollen hat – wegen der Sicherheit – and I don’t really want to look ridiculous in front of everybody else. “Oh, come on,” Elsbe says and with two Irish Coffees and two beers inside me that’s all that it takes for me to change my mind. We quickly gather our belongings – e. g. the courgette – and make to the front. There’s just about room for two left in the front row, and as I’d always rather be in the front row than in the row just behind where you have to face everybody’s hair, arms, jumpers, etc. I join Elsbe.
A stranger starts talking to Elsbe: “And what if he doesn’t play ‘Boy Racer’?” Elsbe is in shock about this rather uncommon way of starting a conversation, but then again – being such an expert on Mr. M. – she knows immediately what he’s referring to: The courgette that’s sticking out of one of the pockets of her trousers. ‘Boy Racer’ is the song during which Morrissey usually swings his banana and he concludes quite rightly that Elsbe’s courgette must be a replacement for Morrissey’s banana. “He will,” she answers before he launches his next strategic move in confusing Elsbe: “So what do you tell everybody what the fish on your wrist is about?” The fish is another insider thing: Morrissey used to draw a fish just like the one Elsbe’s got tattooed, on his own hand. I really like the fish, as it doesn’t at all look like Morrissey – haha!!! – no, it doesn’t even look like being somewhat connected to Morrissey. It’s a symbol he used to use but not to a great extend, so unless you’re quite an expert on the man, you wouldn’t know about the fish.
Ever so often Elsbe get asked about what this fish is about, but is always shy to answer – which is OK – I probably wouldn’t tell. She makes everyone guess, and so far no-one ever got it right.
This guy did. I like the way he’s asking such direct questions!
Before the show starts, I desperately want to get rid of my anorak and also of the fur hat I’m still wearing. My ears are almost all right again and I just don’t feel happy about the prospect of standing in the very front row, still wearing a fur hat for the concert. I try to get one of the security guy’s attention and then try to get him to put my anorak underneath the barrier where there is plenty of room to do so. To my surprise, his answer is: “No.” – “Why?” I ask. “We’re not allowed to do so.” I don’t get it. “I am not allowed to put my anorak where there’s plenty of room for it?” I ask. “You would be allowed to put it there, but I am not allowed to help you do so.” – Arrrgh! This means I have to lean very far across in order to reach underneath the barrier, hurting my poor little beer-filled tummy in the process of doing so. Ridiculous!

We watch Sack play the first part of tonight’s concert and are intrigued to be standing to very close to them and almost on the same level of height, too. Ken and John, who are standing directly in front of us, don’t seem to know where else to look. We don’t either – haha°!
The sound up here is pretty shitty. We’re actually in front of the PA and all we get to hear up here is the monitor sound, which is not very convincing. It’s completely muffled and I find it almost impossible to understand what either Martin or later Morrissey are singing.
Apart from the courgette she brought for Morrissey, Elsbe also brought a banana into the gig, which she is going to give to Martin today. At the very end of the gig she tosses it towards him. Martin, being the entertainer in front of the Lord (sorry, German saying directly translated, as it works so well right here!) catches the banana, peels it and shoves it right into his mouth in one go!!! Fortunately it’s not a very big banana, but it’s still pretty disgusting to look at…

Some time later, when Sack have finished their gig, the interval tape has ended, and Morrissey is entering the stage, the very first thing he does, is walk to the front of the stage, put one of his hands behind his neck, sort of pushing his head forward – just like Martin did, when he was swallowing Elsbe’s banana whole!
I guess Morrissey must have been standing in the wings watching, don’t you think?!

 “Hello you 40-somethings,” Morrissey walks on stage, referring to some review which criticised his music to be aimed at and listen to by this generation, “this is grown up music for grown up people!” And off we go. Just a few songs into the, during ‘Boy Racer’ Elsbe isn’t the only one to throw something towards Morrissey: Her courgette is in strong competition with a Bananas in Pyjamas toy, which is thrown from the other side of the audience, making everybody who gets the joke, laugh. Better still: Catching the Banana In A Pyjama, Morrissey is holding it to his ear, pretending for it to be a telephone, which most definitely is a reference to what Elsbe and I were up to on our gig in Bremen, when Michael Stipe kept phoning us several times during the gig. (this time I miraculousely didn*T throw the corgette at his head but hit him right in the crotch....well... He picked the thing up and kept juggling with it for quite some time before tossing it into the audience again....*sigh* ~ elsberry)
“I’ve got two aunties in Limerick… actually they’re both male,” Morrissey and goes on to say that that’s not very funny at all, until someone from the audience cries out: “But have you never listened to ‘November Spawned A Monster’?” – “No,” is Morrissey’s answer! Weird conversation – weird guy!

“Suuunny!” the audience shouts some time later, obviously wanting to hear one of Morrissey’s song, which in reality is called ‘Sunny’. I have never heard a whole audience sound more Irish. Nor has Morrissey, who cracks up laughing, before playing the song.
A little later someone in the audience shouts: “I love you!!” – “But why?!” Morrissey answers with a grin, “Have you ever thought about that?” He’s quite obviously in a rather good mood tonight. So am I, as I really enjoy standing in the front row, where I am not pushed around by anybody, don’t have to fight for getting a good view, and can keep calm while hopefully taking the best pictures yet on this tour. And I make sure I take plenty of them, too!
Before the concert started, I suggested to Elsbe to make some puckered lips at Morrissey, rather than reaching out her hand for him to touch. No-one is ever doing or has ever done something like that and I still believe that anything that confuses somebody is more likely to get you noticed and to provoke a reaction – and after all, that’s what Elsbe is after, isn’t it. Unfortunately she doesn’t dare to do it, or – as she claims – the occasion doesn’t arise during the whole of the show. What a shame, standing this close to the stage – we’re actually able to see the beautiful blue colour of Morrissey’s eyes, Elsbe says – this would have been the perfect opportunity for something like this.

The most beautiful and amazing song of tonight’s set is ‘Meat Is Murder’ – no comment!
Stage invasion is for everyone today: As the gap between the stage, which in itself is only 1 ½ feet high, and the first row of seats is only about a yard’s width, the barrier to keep the herd in bay is actually on the stage, while the band is playing on a full size riser of about another feet and a half. This means that once you’re across the barrier, taking literally speaking a step onto the band’s platform shouldn’t be the problem for anybody. Even more so with a security like this: They’re wearing suits but what’s more: They spend the whole of the concert sitting lazily on stage and actually seem to approve of  people wanting to come up and kiss Morrissey. Now, that’s what I call security, hm?
The first girl (?) to rush the stage was lent a hand in order to master the step onto the stage, so Elsbe is going to give it another try tonight, too. She only wants to wait towards the end of the show, just in case she will be kicked out of the venue after kissing Morrissey. After all, security highly did disapprove of smoking, so they seem to have a rather strange concept of priorities and maybe being happy (after kissing Morrissey) might give them enough reason to get rid of someone…

Suddenly I notice Stone Cold, who’s standing by the side of the stage, staring over to me. And it’s not just his look passing over me, but he’s actually staring directly at me. “Why?” I wonder. I’m fixing my eyes upon him on return and even more: I’m actually trying to give him a nice look. I wouldn’t say, I am smiling at him but at least I’m trying to put on a rather pleasant face while he’s just staring on and on. “Why”, I still wonder! And now he’s gesturing, too! Still staring hard at me, he’s moving his hand across his throat, rather obviously trying to tell me to quit doing something. “What does he want me to quit then,” I now wonder. I’ve taken some picture throughout the show, and I’ve used my long lens to do so, too, but then that can’t really be it, as I’ve been doing it since the very beginning of the show and even before, at other shows, too. He’s bound to have seen me doing it before so why would he suddenly decide to stop me doing so. “I don’t understand!” I gesture towards him and even show him my camera, putting a question mark onto my face and trying to find out whether it’s the camera he’s talking about. It doesn’t seem to be so, though, as he’s continuing to move his hand across his throat. Whatever it is, he wants me to quit doing something. I try some more, gesturing towards my camera with a questioning look on my face, as it is the only thing I’m doing which might be considered illegal, but it’s not doing any good: He’s just staring at me with a mean face telling me to quit it.
Eventually I just give in. I try to stop doing whatever it is I am not doing: I make a big move putting my camera into the back pocket of my jeans, where it will hopefully be safe from future stage invasion (behold: not on my side!) and try to ignore Stone Cold and his stare.
It works as he gradually seems to be loosing his interest in me. Pfff. Even knowing that I am not doing anything illegal, being stared at like this still makes you feel very uncomfortable. After all, who know: Maybe it’s illegal to be in the front row of a concert when you’re working in a record company – or something like it…

Then it’s Elsbe’s turn to jump the stage. She’s hopping her ass onto the barrier and swinging her legs over. It seems to be dead easy and security is far from preventing her to do so – in fact, they seem to try and even be helpful again or maybe just holding on to her arm – for regulational reasons, I guess. It’s no wonder that Elsbe makes it all the way onto the stage and manages to bite Morrissey’s neck long and longingly before she’s gently pulled off the stage.
I’m annoyed by the fact that after Stone Cold’s gaze I don’t dare taking any more picture. What a great picture of the two of them I could have taken… Well, some days are bigger than others…
I stay put on my spot in the front row and keep watching the show.

And then, as I’ve been standing here for too long, the inevitable is happening... Morrissey is making another venture to the very front of the low stage. He’s moving his microphone to his left hand, so I know he’s up for grabs. But rather then staying safely behind his monitors, he’s moving further and further until suddenly he’s actually standing on the narrow strip of stage, which is in front of his monitors. He’s obviously meaning it! He’s lending a hand and many willing hands from the audience reach out to touch his Mightyness. I don’t. He’s kind of moving along the line of obedient fans, slowly edging his way towards me until he’s standing right in front of me, still holding out his hand for me to touch. No! I don’t won’t to! But he just won’t go away. He’s standing there, hand stretched out towards me, staring into my eyes… Jeasus!
Fair enough, I give in. I reach out my hand a little while he’s almost falling off the stage, trying to reach me. He does and with the deepest look into my eyes, shakes my hand for what seems like forever. His hand is warm but not as sweaty as I though and actually, it’s not too bad – I like the look he’s giving me.
Now then, nothing ever lasts forever and soon the most weird moment of this tour is over.
I’m just glad that Elsbe didn’t make it back to the front of the audience. She probably would have killed me for something which was not my fault whatsoever!!!

As usual the encore is ‘Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me’ and when he Morrissey re-enters the stage he says: “This is a rather boring song, so we will have to play it double time.” Upon which Spike immediately sets of on his drum kit and does so. Sadly not many people seem to be getting the joke, which is over before it really began…

When the concert is over I stay on, as I need to retrieve Elsbe’s and my clothes which are still stuck underneath the barrier. I succeed in attracting one of the security guys’ attention. But rather than handing me my clothes, he’s leaning over and starts whispering into my ear: “Have you been taping the show?” – “No, I haven’t! Why?” I’m seriously confused by his question. “There people in here who are convinced that you’ve been taping the show.” – “No, I definitely haven’t taped the show.” – “Well, I’m just warning you: They are convinced that you did and I think you’re going to get searched when you walk out, so in case you’ve taped the show, you should try to get rid of the recorder as fast as possible.” – “Well, thanks for warning me…” Before I can say much else he’s gone. I’m kind of flabbergasted, not understanding what I did to attract their suspicion.
Nonetheless I still have to get our clothes. I call over to one of the other security guys and he’s handing everything that’s ours over. I’m still confused when Elsbe comes over, and just to be on the safe side I secretly pass my camera to her along with her jacket. She understands even less than I do but takes the camera anyway.
I’m still standing right next to the barrier when the elderly grey-haired tour manager (or whatever his job might be) comes walking over. He’s coming straight towards me and just like the security guy before, he asks me: “Did you just record the concert?” – “No, I did not,” I say very slowly, making sure I look straight into his eyes whilst saying it. He’s not convinced yet: “Are you sure you didn’t record the concert?” – “Yes I am positively sure that I did not record the concert,” I say. He’s rather persistent though: “Can you look me straight in the eyes and tell me that you’re not lying and that you did not record the concert?” Well, what have I been doing just then, I wonder? “Yes, I can look you straight into your eyes and tell you that I’m not lying and that I have not been recording the concert,” I say. And now he is believing me. “OK, I believe you,” he says, “it’s just some guys here where convinced that you were recording.” – “No, I wasn’t.” I must admit that even though I did not do anything, I wasn’t feeling extremely comfortable being accused like this, but now I’m regaining my confidence and even get tempted to say something like: “If I was recording, I were not to do it from somewhere like here where the sound is rather terrible but from somewhere near the mixing desk where you usually get the best quality recordings of a life show.” But I don’t say it as I don’t want to draw any more attention to myself.
Elsbe comes over, asking what he wanted and I tell her.
Still, I’m not very happy about all this. I really want to know who sneaked on me and reported me. So I walk back over to the grey haired guy, who’s now standing towards the side of the stage. “Who told you I might be recording the show?” I ask him. “Oh, that doesn’t matter anymore. If you tell me you weren’t doing it, I’m believing you and that’s it.” – “But I would like to know, who told you?” – “Just someone.” He’s not going to tell me – fair enough, after all it would be me than, sneaking up on someone, and that wouldn’t be fair either, would it?
But while I’m talking to him anyway, I might as well try and find out about the one thing that’s been boz-ering (haha!) me ever since the start of this tour: “Did you ever work for Dave Stewart?” I ask him. He’s slightly surprised at my chance of subjects. “Dave Stewart as in Eurythmics?” he asks. “No. Dave Stewart as in solo career, really.” Now he’s grinning. “No, I didn’t,” he says, “Why?” – “Oh, I just though I recognised you from somewhere, and I thought it might have been a tour of Dave Stewart a few years ago.” – “No, I don’t think so.”
I then get the feeling that he does not want to talk to me anymore. That’s OK. If he never worked for my beloved Dave, I don’t want to talk to him either…

Out we go, Elsbe and myself, into the foyer and on to the bar to get some more drinks. On to the merchandise table then to say “hello again” to Perry and to reclaim our delicate and rather precious bag of booze. He’s still pretty busy with his merchandise and we take a seat on the spare side of the table. It isn’t long before most of Sack have found their way over, too. I take some pictures and get some more drinks over from the bar, as it is shortly before 11.00 p.m. and I’ve got a strong feeling that in a place like this, closing time will be taken more than seriously. (Let alone something like a lock-in could happen here…)
“Did you notice Morrissey coming on stage and making movements as if he was eating a banana whole, just like you when you did eat the banana, earlier on?” I ask Martin. “That’s right,” Martin looks at me in astonishment, “he was doing some rather strange thing when he came on stage. I didn’t notice he was playing a mimic on me when he was doing it, but I think you’re right – it really looked like it, didn’t it?” – “It sure did.” – “So I think he must have been watching me?” Martin’s still a little confused. “I guess so!” – “That’s cool!” Martin is obviously impressed and pleased with knowing that Morrissey cares about Sack enough to stand in the wings and watch them perform. But then Martin can usually be found at the back of the venue, watching the gig, when Morrissey’s playing. I guess, they are much alike in that way.

And while we’re at it, I start marvelling at Martin’s talent as a performer, which has impressed me ever since I first saw him on stage in Cologne. Although, I must admit that I wasn’t positively impressed back then. In Cologne I was merely confused by Martin’s weird and dominant stage-persona, and it took me another gig to figure out how much I like to watch him on stage.
“Have you ever done any acting?” I ask him. “No I haven’t!” – “I would have taken a bet that you did…” – “Lost it.” – “Hm. Still you really look like you know what you’re doing up there.” And once again I start telling Martin, and everybody who cares to listen, which happen to be quite a few people, standing around Martin, about how dreadful David Hasselhoff still managed to impress me to some extend, on the account of his ability to fill a whole stage, which no doubt is due to his acting. Everyone agrees with me that David Hasselhoff is shite, but they see the point I am trying to make.

I can’t help thinking about being accused of having recorded the gig and slowly, giving the false accusations some more thought, things start to make sense, and I can start to understand or see why someone might have though I was recording the show: Throughout the whole concert I was standing in the front row, keeping rather quiet. Unlike everybody else, I wasn’t singing along or dancing about. I never tried to make a rush for the stage and on top of all this, I kept reaching into the back pocket of my jeans taking out my camera and putting it back again. All of this put together is what probably made me look suspicious. And now I also understand Stone Cold’s weird gestures he was giving me during the concert. What I took to be something like “Stop taking picture!” and which I couldn’t understand as it had never before been illegal to take pictures, must have been him trying to tell me to quit recording. That’s also why he had this fierce look on his sweet little face. I get it now… well, too late anyway!

Perry is still serving one late customer: A curly haired guy in a beige suede jacket with his looks reminding me quite a bit of how Micheal O’Donoghues used to look like many, many moons ago. But then, his looks are nothing compared to his laugh: “Wow! That sure is a laugh and a half,” Perry cries out the first time this guy’s laughter is ringing through the air. It sure is! It’s a long, long time since I last heard someone with a laugh like his – if ever I did, that is. It’s bells and chimes and pots and pans and hyena and chicken all mixed together and turned up to full volume! Wow! What for a laugh!!!
It’s enthralling, engrossing, alluring, mesmerizing, absorbing, captivating and all them other great words which I can never remember, meaning you just have to stop dead  in your track and stare at this guy – and then laugh along full-heartedly!
The first time it’s ringing out across the foyer, everybody’s spellbound. I don’t even know why he laughs in the first place but I just have to stare over… The guy’s just bought one of the posters on sale: The yellow coloured one, on which an unbuttoned Morrissey is holding his hand up to his mouth, faking embarrassment at showing his curly chest. Now he’s looking around for the Mighty Man himself, wanting him to sign the poster. What a ridiculous though! This guy obviously doesn’t have a clue! Everybody knows that the chances of meeting Morrissey are nil and nothing, especially when you’re in the same building with him: The more you adore me, the more I ignore you! That’s it!

Well, would that be the reason why he’s laughing? Possibly not, but what the heck, he’s at it and he’s got my attention: “Why can’t he come out an sign the poster,” or something like it, he complains. Perry and I try to convince him that it’s more likely to meet Edith Sitwell sliding down the banister that to get your poster signed by Morrissey, but he’s not buying it. The explanation, that is, not the poster, which he’s already bought anyway.
Eventually I volunteer to lend a hand by faking Morrissey’s signature. “Something I’m quite good at, as I have done it on several occasions to please Elsbe,” I explain to another outburst of his ringing-laughter. Perry, Darrell and Elsbe are on the game now, too, laughing along with this unpredictable chime. “Would you do that for me?” He’s obviously buying it. “Sure! You got a pen?” He’s fiddling through his various pockets, not finding what he’s looking for, while Elsbe knows immediately where she’s hiding her just-in-case-Magic Marker. “Got one,” I say and get down to work, painting Morrissey’s signature on his poster’s bare arm. “Just take your time,” A Laugh And A Half, as Perry christened him, laughs out, wanting me to go somewhat faster. “Of course I will take my time,” I answer Morrissey-style, “I’m just trying to make it as real as possible, by not only writing like he would, but also how he would do it.”
“Is that how he’s writing his name?” Darrell and Perry wonder synchronically. “Painting not writing,” I correct them, while I’m rather busy with the second ‘R’ on the poster. “Seriously? That slow?” – “Slower still, but I’m in kind of a hurry as the bar is about to close.”
Eventually I finish my job but A Laugh And A Half wants more. A dedication is what he’s after. “Morrissey would never do that,” I try to put him off it, but he’s not having it. As he’s giving the poster to his (girl-?)friend as a present he’s persistent enough to get me to pick up the pen again and write something like ‘To Josie’ above the signature, thus ruining the joke for any true Morrissarian who now immediately knows this to be a fake. Sad.

A Laugh And A Half and us – Perry, Darrell, Elsbe and sweet little me, that is – get talking, and – amongst loads of non-memorabilia learn A Laugh And A Half’s name to be Crispin. We try to get him to spend his money on a Sack album. “Are they any good?” he asks, “I’ve missed them.” – “Yeah, they’re pretty all right,” Darrell says. “You saw them?” – “Kind of, yes.” – “And you’re sure they’re good?” – “Definitely! You should definitely buy one of their albums, especially since you’ve missed them.” – “Why, when I’ve missed them?” – “So you can find out exactly what you missed, when you get home!” – “Ah, I see. And you’re positive they’re worth checking out.” – “Positive.” This goes one for quite some time, with the only interruption being Crispin A Laugh And A Half’s laughter, which basically comes after each and everything he says. Darrell, Elsbe and I are having a great time, realising that Crispin doesn’t have a clue, just who is trying to convince him to buy one of Sack’s albums…
By now he’s digging through his pockets again, this time looking for money. He’s not very successful. All he’s bringing out is one punt something. Now even enough for the 12”… “Come on, keep searching,” I urge him, “I’m sure you got more money somewhere and you’re just trying to hide it now…” – “No, I don’t.” He’s searching and it just takes forever. Well, maybe he’s actually telling the truth? But wouldn’t it be a shame to let this guy go without a lasting memory? He’s about £ 1,50 short of buying himself the 12” and finally I pity him enough to dash out the missing money.
I don’t know why and how, but eventually Crispin realises that for quite some time now, he’s been talking to one of the very guys he just bought a CD from. Another Laugh And A Half rings out through the foyer: “It’s you!” he cries into poor Darrell’s face who, at the shear volume of this outburst, shrinks An Inch And A Half. Several more Laugh And A Halfs follow in the following conversation, until Crispin finally decides that it’s time to go home. But I just can’t let him go without getting his home address. Sometimes you meet people that (for various reasons!) you just don’t want to loose ever again. He’s easy about letting me have it, but I wonder to myself, will I ever be sane again… sorry, my mind slips… I wonder whether he’d actually send a reply to whatever I might send him…
Crispin A Laugh And A Half goes home, which leaves Darrell, Perry, Elsbe and myself almost alone in the entire venue. Perry is closing down his merchandise booth while we all keep on chatting.

I’m drunk enough to dare to mock the Irish in front of Darrell (and Perry, but he doesn’t count, because he’s not Irish). “Jeasus, tat ejit, he should work in a faaactory!” I tell DArrell who’s crAcking Up laughing At tis rather Irish sounding sentence!
And I also tell Darrell how I believe that Morrissey is going to remember Elsbe and myself – if he’s going to remember us at all, that is, although with all the bullshit we’ve done so far, I’m pretty sure, he will – “He’s going to remember Elsbe for having a languishing look on her face, while I will be standing next to her, either taking the piss, or taking the pic!”
Darrell and Perry both laugh. Perry’s almost done with loading in and Darrell’s got to go, too, as Sack are driving over-night to Cork where they got some private accommodation on offer. What a shame. Bugger! After not being able to make it last night, we were so much hoping to be able to go out with them tonight… “No, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible,” Darrell says, “you didn’t miss much last night, though.” – “That’s good to hear.” Still, we’re very sad, when Darrell has to kiss us good-night and make his way to find his friends and co-musicians.

Elsbe and I linger on until Perry’s definitely finished with packing and when he’s starting to move everything in the direction of the truck, we decide it might have to be time for us to head home, too. Not that we wanted to, but faced with the choice of helping to lead heavy equipment down narrow stairs, I’d rather opt for the comfy B&B down the road.
We kiss Perry good-night, too and head off towards home. It’s pitch dark and still rather wet and in our drunken state, we’re staggering down the road, desperately trying to avoid as many puddles as possible.
The world is my puddle!

The next morning, whilst being forced to have breakfast at some ridiculous hour, we run into one of the guys who’s been standing more or less next to us during last night’s gig. His name is Jimmy. He’s American and – just like us – he’s here to tour Morrissey. We talk for some time, but I don’t find him particularly amiable. “I thought Cork was today,” he says at some point. “It’s not.” I say, very Morrissey-like. Ah, I’m beginning to learn!
A little later, when Elsbe and I are in the car heading towards the Ring of Kerry, Elsbe is very surprised of the Monday morning rush-hour traffic, which is not! “It almost seems like a Sunday,” she says. “In Ireland,” I say, launching my next rocket towards her, “Every day is like Sunday!”