Right, before I begin my mass write up of my hugely fandabbidozy( it's a Crankie term and I'm bringing it back) weekend I just wanted to share this:
British summer = British Strawberries......Yum!
Right...onward...had a couple of days off so myself and a few choice friends mosied on over to Londontown for some exploring, culture and the most rocking two hours of the year so far.
Upon alighting the train in the Capital this is possibly not the most reassuring sign to read in the current climate:
A WWII bomb, dug up after 60 years which apparently had started ticking and was causing a bit of an inconvenience on the underground system....on the only weekend in which I needed to be in London and travel on said underground system, naturally.
The 'gang' (from left to right in above photo Chloe, James & Tom) was coming for far and wide...and Cornwall...and so the first stop of the day was lunch with some social type natter at which Tom regaled us with the oh-so humorous tale of when he became trapped in a glass telephone box and made a richeous Red Dwarf reference when Chloe tried to diss him with a 'L' sign by asking if she was a dyslexic hologram.....So, we ate, drank and chortled to Tom's anecdotes and then tootled along the South Bank to the Tate Modern...to attempt to assert some culture into our lives.
Now I've never been to the Tate before and although I'm open minded and pretty liberal I'm fairly certain that the majority of 'artists', a term which I used very loosely, are in fact taking the mickey...because if not then every piece of artwork which I produced circa 1983/84...which I like to refer to as my 'crayola' period...should be worth a mint by now. The 'gang' split into those trying to appreciate the deeper meaning behind the illustrious works of 'art' and myself and Tommo...who blundered round the galleries disbelieving the gumpf filled descriptives attached to splotches of colour and squiggly lines on canvas and in turn discussed our own conclusions as to the intended metaphor and mind set of the 'artists'....one of my favourites from dear Tommo was 'Lemmings in coloured suits through a combine harvester' as a descriptive of Pollock's 'Summertime' (an image of which I insert for you own conclusions...feel free to comment)
After a few frowns and a couple of 'tut's' from a middle aged women in horn rimmed glasses and plaid the 'gang' vacated the vicinity of the Tate and headed off for the finale of the day.
I say headed off, but there was actually a fair amount of incessant faffing from a couple of member of the group (one not pictured) who insisted in stopping in practically every pub on the way to Wembley and even though we had arrived many, many hours before the gig started we still managed to get into the stadium and find a suitable ( if not completely ideal) spot a mere matter of minutes before Grohl and Co appeared on stage.....gig? Wembley? Grohl and Co?....Oh yes did I not mention the reason for the 'gang' to be London bound...only the biggest gig of the season for which we had 'shiny' tickets. Now our lateness, as mentioned, meant a further away experience that first anticipated...though is was still a pretty good view of grunged up Dave Grohl (aka Uncle Dave....aka The Foo Fighters)....and without the usual Mosh Pit squashiness (those born pre 60s/70's may wish to google 'mosh pit' for explanation).
Now the following 2 or so hours are already becoming a bit of a blur, but the Cliff-notes go something like: Much whooping, singing, rocking out, saluting of Dave Grohl, drink flinging, acoustic lighter moments, head banging, guitar solo, richeous Tyler drum solo, Triangle solo (yes I said Triangle solo!), swearing, Uncle Dave's appreciation of the masses (86,000 to be exact), flashing (of the photography kind to clarify), crowd solo, finale, encore and fireworks....And so we come to the end and my photos from Foo Fighters @ Wembley Stadium (and other Londontown randomness including the after gig Chinese, Kensington Gardens, Chloe 'lending a hand' and the Albert Hall) 2008.