And now for something just a little bit different.
Those who’ve read Bright Meadow for a little bit will be familiar with Moose from the stories I tell and from the comments on assorted posts. For those of you who aren’t so hot on the history around here, Moose is my long suffering flatmate. And when I say long suffering I mean it – she’s survived me + mornings since 2004. That’s impressive to say the least.
Anyway, I dragged Moose into the whole blogging gig shortly after I started (I like to lead by example) but what with one thing and another she hasn’t added to hers since last October (naughty Moose). Apparently I’m partly to blame for this as I always seem to blog the stories first… Um, oops?
So with me on a blogging break, Moose decided it was time to take matters into her own capable hands and write a guest post about something that happened to us a few weeks back. Can I just say how weird it was sitting in the living room knowing that Moose was writing something for MY blog? Eeek. But I like the results and I hope you do to.
Ladies and jellybeans, please bring your hands together and welcome Moose.
The other weekend I dragged a not-so-chipper Cas out for the evening to see my favourite band – Barenaked Ladies. We arrived at the Guildhall in plenty of time, stood in the wrong queue for a bit (what is it about us Brits and queues? we see a long queue and automatically gravitate to it), but finally managed to find a cosy spot inside against the wall so Cas had something to lean on. It was pretty good spot. It had a reasonably clear view of the stage, the aforementioned wall, it was next to an exit for an easy escape and/or route to the toilets, and was next to the bar should we wish to partake. It was in fact a perfect spot… until the support act came on.
The second the lights went down people appeared from nowhere to stand in front of us. Not just any old people mind, people taller than us. I went from seeing three quarters of the stage to seeing the back of someone’s t-shirt in less than 30 seconds. At one point I made a comment to Cas about people standing in front of us, which the women who had just come to stand in front of me overheard, she glared at me before turning her back and reducing my view even further, to the back of her head. After about 15 minutes of standing on tippy-toes and bobbing around like a Fraggle on speed I finally gave up and suggested we move to the back where there appeared to be more room and better chance of finding a clear spot.
I am just over 5’2″ (or 158cm for the metrically inclined). Most of the time I am perfectly happy with this. I’m quite comfortable with the majority of the population in the UK being taller than me. The only time I’m not is when I’m with a crowd of people, oh say, like 500 people at a gig. Unless I arrive super, duper early so I can be right at the very front I am reduced to not being able to see much of anything. If people could just be a little more considerate and think about the fact that they may be blocking someone’s view as they squirm their way to the front things could be so much better for everyone. But they don’t. Last weekend was an extreme case I have to admit, it was the first time I’ve ever had to go to the back (emphasise back) of the room to get a better view! It was then that I introduced Cas to ‘The Plan’.
‘The Plan’ is to introduce height restricted areas at all gigs and concerts where there is standing room. All people below 5’4″ could go in the front section, between 5’5″ and 5’9″ could go in the middle, and anyone over 5’10” could go at the back. That way us short-arses could actually get a chance at seeing something once in a while. Now, I’ll admit this plan isn’t perfect. It still has a few kinks to iron out. What happens, for example, if you’re partner is taller than you are? As someone who is attracted to tall men (something to do with restoring balance to the universe according to a friend of mine) I do appreciate the problem, but this is a minor consideration I feel. Overall the concept is sound. Now I just need to convince the venues of this…
Oh, and the post title? It’s the title of a song by the support act that night, the very funny Boothby Graffoe, which he got the audience singing and I’ve had stuck in my head ever since. “Baseball playing spi-der, baseball playing spi-der, baseball playing spi-der, baseball playing spi-der, baseball playing spi-der”