It's stupid o'clock in the morning and I've just returned from The Wedgewood Rooms.
My reason for going? To share some memories with Pete whilst we watched Dirty DC do their stuff.
OK. So heavy rock isn't everyone's cup of Ovaltine (possibly even less when it's a Truibute Band doing the crash, bang, thud bit) , but I like it and I paid for the ticket, so that gives me the edge. (The edge at the wedge? Sounds like a U2 tribute band!).
I first saw AC/DC way back in 1978. Bon Scott was the singer then, and I immediately become a crash, bang, thud afficiendo. Bon has long since passed over to the great concert hall in the sky, whilst my head-banging days are equally spent (if I tried to head-bang today, I'd be on the paracetamol faster than you could say "For Those About To Rock, We Salute You). However, hearing classic tracks like "Whole Lotta Rosie" (surely the best rock track in the world?), "Shot Down In Flames" and "TNT" really bought those far-off jean-jacket clad days hurtling back at a fair rate of knots. Of such things memories really are made.
Now then. My ever-lovely Lottes likes to pay "The Wedge" a visit whenever she's down in these far more clement climes.
She doesn't go for the live bands.
Oh no.
She does the disco.
The dancing.
The adrenaline rush that is a heady mix of 60's, 70's, 80's and even 90's music.
She goes with her friends and creates instant memories.
Funny how the same location has such different meanings for the two of us.
Lotte's creates memories: I recreate them.
Or am I just getting old?
