Ok maybe a childish way to start a post, but for those of you who follow my Twitter you'll know that I was fool enough to fork out money to see Guns n' Roses this week in Manchester. Yes, I know they're past their best, but we saw them about three years ago and they were pretty darned good! So decided to treat ourselves - £50 per ticket!! - on a wet Monday night.
So basically, in a nutshell, we went for a curry, went to the Arena at 8, they were scheduled to be on stage at 8.30 and we expected them on at 9-9.30. Axl Rose, notoriously mature and reliable, is always late on stage. This we know. It's relatively amusing. And, as my future husband said (in an eerie moment of foresight) "Let him be late; it is all he has left".
He wasn't kidding either. He certainly doesn't have his voice left. But I'm jumping ahead. The complete prat actually came on stage at 10.40. We left at around 10.52.
The reasons are many. But the worst reason, the complete truth, is that I couldn't watch him. It was uncomfortable. It was like watching an aged, fallen beauty get trashed at a party and try to cop off with young handsome men. It was like being in Yates's on a Friday night. It was....just.....horrible.
The problem is that Axl still thinks he is a legend. And he's not. He's an older gentleman. He looks like Obelix. And yet in his deluded mind he is a God. But his voice has gone. That amazing wonderful voice that horrified our mothers in the 80s and 90s has gone. And he has nothing left. Lacklustre musicians pretending to be Slash. The most entertaining thing was the fat streaker, who they actually let back in after throwing out. Tells a story that does.
I learned a lot on Monday night. I learned that sometimes in life, you have to accept that your star has fallen. you have to accept to move on and not live in the past. You have to realise what and who you are and live accordingly. He could have gotten away with it if he'd sent himself up, had a bit of humour even!! But no. Mr B's observations were along the lines that he's rich, has all the money in the world, and can do what he wants. Never mind the people who work their arses off to pay £50 to see a washed-up moron try to re-live his youth (hmmm, perhaps not quite over the rage then??). Mr B thinks that people who are rich, proper rich, have their own rules and their own way of life, and constantly look for ways to torment the underclasses.
I believe in living a long rich and fulfilling life. I also believe in breaking the rules and having fun and being cheeky and disrespectful when required. I also believe that you can't polish a turd.
I broke one of my own rules in the car on the way home, by uttering a phrase that had one of our managers at work said it to me, would have met with my response of " would you like some wine? to go with your cheese?". I turned to the lovely man next to me, who has never been a rock God and never will be, and was so happy that we'd had the evening together and had this daft experience, and said to him "You know what? I'm far richer than him".
Cheesey and awful? Yes. True and heartfelt. GOD yes!
