I normally blog about being a twenty something who is week by week turning into an OAP. Today however I’m in the mood to blog like its 2002 and I’m 12 again. I am utterly fangirling (now there’s a word that wasn’t around the first time I did this) over popstars. I am giddy and somewhat hysterical with anticipation about seeing two of the greatest pop rock boy bands EVER come together in the ultimate supergroup. Early noughties pop punk band Busted (two of them at least, I bet Charlie Simpson and his eyebrows are gutted to be missing out) have joined forces with the Mcfly boys in an arena tour that had been storming the nation. Twitter is rife with love for the show, and I CAN NOT WAIT.
One of the really cool (okay slightly soppy and romantic) things about going to see McBusted is that I’m going with the fella. The tickets were released a mere 15 days after we met but regardless of the potential risk that we would not only not be together but also, never have been together, I booked us seats. Imagine two weeks in- He might’ve turned out to be a total weirdo, we weren’t even friends of Facebook yet. It was clearly the right thing to do though. I don’t think I ever really doubted it was, and any worries I did have were waylaid by the fact that I’d still have the tickets! It’s nice to think that six months ago my fella was happy to plan his life that far in advance with me. Friday will see the reveal on whether or not his keenness for tickets was genuine or a way of charming his way into my pants by declaring similar interests.
Regardless of the maturity of my relationship and other things in my life (washing machines and allotments anyone?) I have turned into a teenage whirlwind and am having to hold myself back from telling stories like “Oh my god this one time I was queuing to go to this gig in Asda Carpark (I ask you?!) and the car with Busted in drove like right part and like I swear Matt looked at me and I could like totally see them like really close”. I’ve only reminisced out loud three or four times about “this one time right, I was working and Tom from Mcfly totally came into the bar and I had to serve him and he had like two pints of IPA and ordered a white wine spritzer for this other girl he was with- oh em gee I bet that was that girl who’s like his wife now”.
See what I mean? I can’t help myself! Gone are the thoughts of joining the pension scheme and saving for a mortgage, I’m racking my brains about where I put that Babyliss styler set so I can glue five colours in my hair before show time.
As if this wasn’t enough to fuel my enthusiasm my mum revealed that my brother had been asked to work for them when they performed in my home town. He’s a sound and lightening engineer, in a heavy metal band and disparaging of all things trendy. I do remember his 11 year old self fancying himself as something of a Busted fan, and so imagine he is psyched by the opportunity. I am DESPERATE to abuse it on behalf of him. He likes to play it cool and I’m sure has no desire to make out with any of them. (Neither have I incidentally, I’m not about to wreck any homes, least of all my own). Imagine though if I got to have a conversation with them that involved more than “What can I get you?” And “that’ll be ten forty please”. I could be hilarious, riveting- they could write a song about me- I’m looking at you Tom Fletcher! I could be cool and aloof and make up for 14 year old me screaming so loud I drowned out anything Harry Judd said. It’s the sort of thing my fourteen year old self would have pinned all my hopes of a long and happy life married to an international pop star, as my bestie used to frequently remind me; “Alex from the Calling met his wife when she blagged her way backstage at one of his gigs”. Well then, we would surmise, if it could happen to her it could defs happen to us.
Needless to say, my expectations are high, my vocal chords are lubed. I am SO ready to sing my heart out and party like it’s the year 3000.