This time next month, I’ll be boarding a large jet-engined aircraft – vuvuzela in hand – for my trip to Europe on The Last Hurrah 2010 tour. It therefore seems fitting that we should indulge ourselves with a little more a-ha goodness. This one is from their 1990 album East of the Sun, West of the Moon and it’s called I Call Your Name.
A great song that made it to number 45 in the French singles chart. Because they have no taste.
I should be at Grand West watching Crowded House tonight, but I’m not feeling great and the kids are still recovering from ear and sinus infections respectively, so I’ve stayed home to look after them. And me.
In an ironic twist of fate, Mrs 6000 took the babysitter along to the concert.
Nothing, however, will stop me from making an appearance at the Oslo Spektrum in a few weeks time. I could be oozing blood from every orifice (very African) and I’d still be there singing along.
It would be nice to just be healthy that night, though.
After a weekend wracked by Mrs 6000’s tonsillitis and the consequent increased demands on my fathering abilities, I find myself concerningly nursing a sore throat of my own this morning. Both the kids have also been coughing and thus we’re off on another family outing to the doctor this morning. Oh joy.
Sore throats are never good, but this one is especially bad because tomorrow evening, we have plans (and tickets) to go and see (and hear) Crowded House at the Grand West Arena. Of course, laryngitis (I haven’t had any tonsils since a well-planned surgical intervention in 1979) will have no bearing on my eyesight or ear…sight(?), but it will make me feel generally crap and prevent me from singing along with the band in question.
Hits such as Four Seasons In One Day (written by Neil Finn after a particularly heavy 24 hours playing Championship Manager on the Playstation) and the much misheard Don’t Dream You’re Sober – an alcoholic’s worst nightmare – will have to be performed solely by the guys on stage and that would be a bad thing for the audience generally. Believe it, because it’s true.
Anyway, it would be foolish of me to strain my currently delicate vocal cords any further chatting to you good people. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with arepeejee’s stunning Warp Speed Winter Gardens:
Straight out of Sheffield, via Betelgeuse.
Make it so.