Marillion Rocks!

I had two tickets to see Marillion - my favourite band as you are probably aware - on Thursday. I asked several people if they wanted to go with me but, for various reasons, no one was available to come with me. And no, it wasn't that they all thought they were rubbish, stop being so rude about my boys. I had asked David if he would come but, as a gentleman rather more partial to the blander side of the music scene (e.g. Jamie 'like listening to a slice of white bread' Cullum), he said something about rather eating his own spleen. Eventually however, when it became apparent that I would be rocking out on my own, he agreed to come along, under duress, to keep me company.

The concert was fabulous and I sang my little heart out. Which of your so-called modern-day popular beat combos would do a full-on gig followed by TWO encores with a total of SIX songs? Pah. You can keep 'em. Give me Steve Rothery looking like he's having an...ahem...rather pleasurable experience whilst playing his exquisite guitar solos, Mark Kelly, dark and brooding at the back, like an evil warlord secretly surveying his minions, Pete Trawavas bounding around like a hobbit on speed, Ian Mosley so laid back whilst playing extraordinary complicated drum fills that he looks like he may be finishing off a particularly nice tapestry at the same time, and of course H, filling the room with his presence and impossibly pitch perfect with every single note he sings ANYDAY.

Just before the last encore, David leant over and said "ok, you win. I will never take the piss out of them again. I'm converted." He then spent the yesterday wearing his newly-purchased Marillion t-shirt and asking when the next gig is.

In your face!