Most Wanted Musician


There I was, off to Edinburgh for a couple of days. It was nothing particularly glamorous, a bog standard trip which thanks to the peculiarities of my job meant that I would be spending it in various art galleries, museums and at least one trip to the Whiskey Museum. Now my golden rule with any type of travel is this: Remember what it was like being a kid. Remember the excitement of just being in an airport, of getting on a plane and remember the rush of take off. Hold on to that childlike wonder and try to remember what it was like the first time your company actually paid for you to visit somewhere, where they paid for a hotel and dinner and drinks. Man, this is all awesome stuff! Never let familiarity take the shine out of amazing things. It’s like flying, people sit there and read, or watch movies or sleep. Dude, look out of the window, we’re flying! Flying FFS, our ancestors dreamed of this for millennia!

Now I know this is a digression, but bear with me it helps to picture the kind of mood I was in. I’d landed in Edinburgh, had a successful first meeting and had decided to walk back into the centre of town. My phone rang, it was my partner in my *other* ventures, the art and creative stuff that lets me cling on to the last vestiges of impetuous youth and separate me in my mind from the salaryman I need to be for my family.

“Voodoo, good news, Mark Millar just called. He finally got your message about being in Scotland, said he had a great time at our last meeting and has invited out for drinks. I’m getting on a plane and I’ll meet you in Glasgow.”

This was PERFECT. On the off chance this would work out I had arranged a meeting the next day in Glasgow and so the company were footing the bill for a hotel, and naturally I had ‘accidentally’ booked a twin. The meeting he was referring to was when we interviewed him for a show we were putting on about British comic art, and when Mark had agreed to be the patron of our art programme. Now one of my comics heroes doing that was pretty much incredible, but being invited out drinking was just possibly the greatest thing to ever happen.

Walking back into town I had my strut on, a sense of childlike excitement, the sun was out and what was this? My Scottish Trip Garbage playlist had just come on. Life was indeed good and I could already taste my celebratory pint. As I strode down the street I began to pay attention to my whereabouts. I was coming up away from Leith and remembered that I had heard Shirley Manson was from that part of town.

“And talking of Shirley Manson, wow, look at her”

Walking toward me was my perfect kind of indie girl.

“Look at her! All knee high boots, shirt skirt, slim perky body and working my way up is that red hair I spy and wow she’s stunning she looks like……Bugger me! It’s only bloody Shirley Manson!”

It was indeed the prefect day. And dammit if I wasn’t going to say hello, I was fizzing with confidence and I’m a nice polite well dressed (today) chap, hopefully she’ll take it the right way. And as I changed my step to walk toward her she caught my eye, I began to pull out my headphone and try to relate in a few simple expressions and movements that “hey, I was just listening to a track of your criminally underrated album, Beautiful Garbage and what a surprise..”, and as I began to smile I noticed the old lady beside her. They were both carrying shopping bags, and if you took away Shirley’s heels they were of the same height.

“Shit! She’s out with her mum. It doesn’t matter how polite I am, that would just be rude”

As the mental gears turned (and it’s amazing, these paragraphs took place in a matter of seconds) I properly took in the scene. Behind her, following at a respectful/optimum stalking distance was a motley collection of fan boys/girls, freaks and the strange. (You know, Garbage fans). In an instant I understood. She had been out shopping with her mum, one or two had probably spotted her and called their mates, and bit by bit she had accumulated an entourage of the peculiar. All of them too scared to actually come up to her. But if I stopped her, broke through that barrier the poor woman would be mobbed.

I glanced up at them, I looked at her mother and this time tried to convey “Oh bugger I’m sorry I didn’t realise you’re with your mum, I don’t want to interrupt you have a lovely day”

I was rewarded with the biggest, warmest most genuine smile topped off with a little wink. And then in my book was worth a million oddly stilted fan boy street stops. I was elated, I had done a good thing for one of my all time crushes, been smiled at and swept through the following nut nuts like the king of all geeks.

My day just couldn’t get better. Until that was I made it to Glasgow met up with Millar and at 2am drinking scotch in some backstreet bar he told me his mate had shagged her, that she was filth and indeed did take it up the wrong ‘un.
(voodo_kinky, Mon 20 Apr 2009, 15:30, 5 replies)

Every Garbage story gets a click from me
This is the third. Or the fifth if I count my own posts, none of which are this good.
( GarbageFan didn't know what to have as a board sig on, Mon 20 Apr 2009, 21:07, closed)

Thanks fella
She was indeed stunning
(voodo_kinky, Tue 21 Apr 2009, 12:23, closed)

Great story
and a great attitude to life. Spend this *click* wisely (i.e. waste it on sweets)
( chart cat has an itch, Tue 21 Apr 2009, 5:59, closed)

Consider it wasted
*penny sweet heaven*
(voodo_kinky, Tue 21 Apr 2009, 12:23, closed)

i must be a proper comic nerd
I am far more jelous of the fact you got to meet Mark Millar. Love his work.
(FutureGhost, Tue 21 Apr 2009, 13:48, closed)