In life, people tell you that you should never meet your heroes, because you will always be disappointed.
If you’re in love with them, you can’t be with them because they’re famous and your humble lifestyle just won’t fit in with theirs. You can’t be friends with them because other than what they’re famous for, you probably won’t have anything else in common and if you’re a fan of someone, you can’t work with them, but you can work for them. Even then, there’s a clear divide between you that inevitably determines your difference.
In my younger years I did three summers at the Edinburgh Fringe festival where I met Christian Slater in the Foyer of the venue I worked at. My friend and I had a drink with Adam Hills and his wife because we sold his tickets, and he liked our enthusiasm. I gave Johnny Vegas his VIP passes and made friends with some of the cast of Family Affairs (a Channel 5 soap opera no one remembers).
I stalked Irvine Welsh to get my copy of Trainspotting signed in the hope that in a three second conversation he would teach me how to write a blockbuster just like his. I queued up for two hours to meet Bret Easton Ellis wishing as every minute passed that we would discover we had so much in common that he would invite me to his New York palace and show me the spots that inspired him to write American Psycho.
In 2013 I grinned up at Josh Groban from my fourth-row seat and shrivelled up like a gibbering prune and just oozed…
STARSTRUCK-NESS…
I am rubbish when it comes to celebrities. I get shy, I forget how to talk, I can’t breathe, I don’t go red, I go white… and I forget that the person standing in front of me is just like me…a person.
Back in March I wrote a blog about an obsession I was having with the band Del Amitri as a result of a Bipolar blip I tried to ignore.
The Devil & Del Amitri – Bi-polar with a stoma Blog
The truth is, that Bipolar blip turned into something much bigger. It lasted months, caused me to have a few weeks off work and reminded me that…
You can never know it all.
The obsession with Del Amitri never really went away and months later, with a much healthier mind, I am able to listen to the songs that filled my being with comfort and I can listen to the lyrics and say…
“I know Justin Currie wasn’t talking directly to me…he was talking to everyone.”
In 2014 I saw Del Amitri play live at the O2 Appollo in Manchester. But it’s surprising how faint a memory can be when you need it the most. I bought no merchandise; I don’t even have my paper ticket and I can’t remember what Justin Currie looked like because the one thing I do remember is that the smoke machine they had on stage was a little bit too smoky!
In July Del Amitri extended their Scottish tour and moved further south, announcing a date in Manchester…
Wednesday 11th December 2024…
Did I get tickets? No, I was working… But mum did!
I think she bought them semi begrudgingly with a warning text message that read…
“This had better not make you ill.”
But I had to be at that concert. I had to see Justin Currie on stage. I had to hear him sing “Kiss This Thing Goodbye”, I had to see if he still dances the same way as he did in the 1990s videos I watched on YouTube. I just wanted to be in the same room as the person who gave a tortured mind refuge in a world where, lets face it, there isn’t much available. And I’m not talking about the real world. I’m talking about my world, I’m talking about me, because it’s always about me…
In June 2023 I had surgery to fix a prolapsed Wilomena, well in October 2024 Wilomena decided to prolapse for a second time only this time we have to live with it because the NHS only pays for “really bad” stuff and not just “bad” stuff. For the last two weeks she’s been in spasm and I just sucked it up and cracked on with my day to day life trying to ignore the excruciating pain and I got a surprise on Monday when my stoma nurse said…
“One more day of ignoring this, we’d have had to admit you to get that treated.”
My first thought was…
“But I’m seeing Del Amitri on Wednesday!”
For two weeks I’ve felt beyond sorry for myself while trying to work out how I will deal with a problematic Wilomena and carry on living the life that I am proud to have created for myself because while the NHS surgical team may have given up it’s fight to help me, I have not.
I still have a life to live.
Did I make the concert?
Of course I did!
I am nothing if not determined, my friends.
Del Amitri were playing at The Albert Hall in the centre of Manchester. It’s a tiny venue mostly made for people who can stand and dance, but also has a balcony which has about ten rows of wooden benches, if you like, so you can sit with a clear view of the stage.
Mum parked the car a few minutes walk away from the Albert Hall, so we wrapped up ready to queue with the other concert goers.
Four years ago I used to work in the centre of Manchester. I actually worked about ten seconds walk from the Albert Hall and trust me! I know every coffee shop and bar that is in that vicinity. Albert Schloss, Dirty Martini, Starbucks… But as we walked down the road we turned a corner onto a street I’d never seen before. It had a very brightly lit Café Nero with two men having a drink together. Instantly I noted one man in a camel coat with an impressive mane of grey-white hair and I said…
“Mum, that’s Justin Currie. That’s Justin Currie! That’s Justin Currie having a coffee with his mate.”
He looked beautiful. There’s no other way of describing it. I’ve had a crush on that man since 1993! And even with the eighteen-year age gap, I can honestly say, thirty-one years later, that man is still beautiful.
Straight away mum said…
“I dare you!”
My friends, I wish I had my brave pants on. I wish I could have walked into that Café Nero and bought a coffee and walked straight up to Justin Currie and said…
“Justin…”
But what do you say? When the truth of the matter is, you’d be standing in front of him because you had a bipolar episode and his music played a very large part in that episode.
How do you say…
“Hi Justin, I know you don’t know it, but we’ve met before…six months ago I thought you were talking to me through your lyrics.”
Now you all know, I would never say that. I would never want to embarrass myself like that. When Bernard is already a grade A expert at doing that, I don’t need to make my situation any worse.
I reminded mum of my ridiculous starstruck-ness and I said…
“I can’t. I’ll be a gibbering idiot. I’ll look like an idiot and I haven’t even done my hair nice!”
For a few seconds we just stood there. I watched my hero through the window of Café Nero and I took it for what it was. A man in a really nice camel coat, having a coffee with his friend and he would never know I was there.
Do I regret walking away with nothing?
Well, I tell myself this…
Sometimes it’s better to never meet your heroes. Sometimes it better because you won’t be disappointed by them. You already know you’ll never be with them, you’re in no position to be friends with them and you already have a job so you don’t need to work for them.
Sometimes what you already hold in your heart for them, is enough.
As I sat on the balcony in the Albert Hall beside my mum, who is now a fully converted Del Amitri fan and shares equal love for all things Justin Currie; we cushioned our bum cheeks with our coats, surrounded by a crowd who needed to be hoisted up the benches so they could sit and watch the magic unfold.
I watched Justin Currie sing every song I had on my set list shopping list. I watched in awe of a man who bravely sings with a microphone in his hand that shakes as a result of his Parkinsons diagnosis and I thought…
I love that!
I have spent seven years always making sure I conceal my ostomy bag. I hide it because someone once said it was disgusting. I hide it because it houses something no one wants to admit we all do, and that’s…poo.
I‘ve hidden it because it’s an ailment, it’s a problem and even though I openly call myself…
“Bipolar with a stoma”
Have I really been open when I spend 90% of my time making sure my jumper covers my bag?
Justin Currie didn’t hide his hand when he sang. He didn’t hide it as it shook holding his plectrum. He wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed or even shy! He sang and he danced like he always has.
After every Bipolar episode I have, a little part of my soul fades and sometimes I never manage to get that back. Given the choice I would happily banish Bernard like a lovelorn Shakespearean character, with the argument that he ruins everything and nothing good comes from an animal you cannot tame. But this time Bernard did not ruin Del Amitri for me. Instead, Bernard reminded me that music can still be beautiful, even when our vision is distorted. And in the aftermath of everything we go through, it’s important to find the beauty in the ugly.
For me,
The beauty is staring at a man in a camel coat through a coffee shop window thinking… Maybe, if I wasn’t so starstruck I could walk into Café Nero and say…
“Thank you for getting me through every single day since March. Thank you for making me realise different doesn’t have to be bad.
Thank you for teaching me to embrace what I cannot control.
And thank you, for making it all okay; because now I will not hide.”
Someone once asked the question, if you were to have a drink with a celebrity of your choice, what would it be?
Well I like tea. Everyone knows I like tea, so maybe next time I see him in a coffee shop, maybe I’ll have tea…
…with Justin Currie.
Dedicated to Del Amitri xx