Leonard Cohen

Last night I went to the Leonard Cohen concert. I’ve always been aware of his music but I wouldn’t say that I’m his biggest fan. But it was a free ticket and I’m nothing if not a fan of a freebie so I went. Yes recession concert going.

When I arrived I saw that his fans…..didn’t look like me. There was a lot of black and ….more black. But it was all clothing. Yes a lot of his stuff is about depression and mental health but I didn’t get that from the concert. Instead I saw a sprightly 78 year old poet / songwriter perform some of his greatest hits.  The experience was more like being at a sermon. Worshiping at the alter of music than a concert.

It was a beautiful concert. All 3 hours of it. I went alone as most of my friends hadn’t really heard of him. Or maybe they said that because they just didn’t want to go?

It was amazing to hear Hallelujah sung live but I have a new love. Alexandra Leaving is a beautiful poem turned song. For that alone I’m glad that I went. Because finding love isn’t easy. Finding songs that speak to you instantly rarer.

Unlike the poor couple that were sat next to me on an early in the relationship date. He was clearly a fan of the music. She was a fan of beer. No looker she made up for it in useless facts that she told him about people he didn’t know. Something tells me that she got to 5 beers but wouldn’t be getting to date 5.

But my highlight of the night was the drunken guy who managed to piss off a whole section of the audience. Yes he was not only drunk but he was a belligerent arse. Apparently Leonard Cohen fans don’t stand for such nonsense and he and his elderly dad were ejected by a crew of indignant fans.

He was dragged down trying to chat up the manly looking security woman with a “What’s your name luv? Eh? Gorgeous? What’s you’re name!”. Eventually even she was worn down by his efforts and sat him elsewhere. He called for his dad to come and join him. Poor dad was clearly still recovering from the hip replacement and shame of his son but gingerly made his way down. As he did his son gave the finger to the whole section a number of times.  I saw him later dancing with another steward to the waltz song. One of them didn’t look like they were having fun. I would say it was the steward who was made to bump uglies with the drunken arse.

Good times. Thank you Leonard Cohen. A poet and a gentleman.

© Chelsea Black




Reverse snobbery

My friends I have been a victim. A victim of yet another bad date you ask in shock? No. This time it is a lot worse. I am a victim of reverse snobbery.

So apparently you have to have hustled really hard to get respect in this town. You have to have been raised on an estate and lost people through drugs or gang violence? Otherwise your rags to riches story isn’t worthy. And some guys consider not having struggled a sin again cool.

This happens a lot if you grew up outside of London. My tales of kicking it outside McDonalds in the home counties just don’t hold tight with tales of violence gone wrong. OK, I hung out outside a McDonalds once until my mum spotted me and made me go home because she said it looked cheap.  Even those tales just don’t have the same climatic ending as losing friends in beefs over a girl or a patch. Not a nicotine patch my precious. Yes I was confused too.

And yet I thought I was real enough. I suffer the same torture that is the hair salon as anyone else. I support Nandos as a dating option. I’ve even been known to KFC. I can hang!

But more recently I’ve noticed that this reverse snobbery is getting worse. The other day a guy made a comment about me never being able to survive in the real world. Huh? Is West London not the real world? Apparently he based this on a hand wash in my bathroom. It was Avocado and Jojoba. I bought it because it was green and I like Avocado. I still haven’t figured out what Jojoba is but that’s a whole different blog. It was from Waitrose but seriously must I mission on a bus to get to a Lidl to show that I’m keeping it real? And what’s keeping it real about Lidl? I’m not one to inconvenience myself for the ‘right’ kind of carrier bags.

I was not impressed. But then I realised that I couldn’t ever to be with someone who judges me negatively on the way I spend my money or where I grew up. Can you imagine if a man put me on a Haribos budget? Eh eh, then you would know. These are things that make us all unique. Instead I think they hope they can shame you into changing. No my precious this chick is all about the M&S food treats no matter where the basic shop is done. And why change? There’s only 18 months left of the recession then we’re all ok!

In turn I don’t really look favourably on those who dress younger and pretend that they are still hustling. You’re an old IT consultant dressing like your kids in order not to look like you’ve sold out? Yes that sounds healthy. Maybe I should start dressing more like the kids.

That said I do react badly if I notice one ply toilet paper or certain foods aren’t Heinz. Ketchup and Baked Beans aren’t meant to be anything but Heinz, come on! Or if I’m expected to enjoy going to Brixton. I don’t, I just find it sad. Ok, I have some things I could work on but seriously don’t judge me on not struggling. Instead judge me on what I am now. A woman with avocado candles and colour themes in her bathroom.

© Chelsea Black


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