I was gonna think of a cool introduction but my brain is not on the highest level of its performance abilities at the moment, so- I saw Babyshambles play on Monday. My infatuation with Peter Doherty dates back to a time when I didn't quite know what to do with myself and life in general, and the music of the Libertines and Babyshambles as well as Pete's solo work was the understanding friend, the fellow sufferer and the slight hope for the better to me. After having listened to him for ages it was kind of surreal to see him on stage, as the actual person he is and I won't lie, I shed a tear at "Delivery". I'm not very tall and not very massive so I had my doubts if I was gonna survive the front row, it certainly did give me a "mufasa and the gnus" kind of feeling- you're thrown about mercilessly by the crowd, but at some point you don't even care, because you're one with the sound, one with the people around you, and- alas- one with the mix of beer, sweat and dirt on the floor.
The gig was class, but (obviously, I should add) I wanted to meet the man himself, so together with a little crowd of 30 per cent normal people and 70 per cent ferociously annyoing groupies a friend and I were hanging around at the barrier in front of the backstage exit where the tour bus was waiting. That barrier, about 2 metres high and all covered up with some advertisement banner, was somewhat impossible to get around, but the gap on one side of it was perfectly cool for someone my size to look through, and I took the opportunity. This is how I saw Pete approach the bus, and I just called him. And HE CAME. He immediately started to explain that the band is tired and all that, but I said it's all cool and I don't want anything, I just want to give him something, and pulled out an envelope with these two drawings inside:
IN THE MEANWHILE HE TOOK MY HAND. Blame this lyricism of mine on the fact that I'm a literature student or on the fact that I'm embarrassingly deeply in love with this guy, but it was an event detached from time and space for me. It felt like, metaphorically speaking, the hand that has been holding mine for a long while, actually physically held it- for some glorious moments. (crying break for everyone, hehe.) Then other people noticed that I was talking to Pete in the corner, and started screaming, and he fled into the bus. I told him to open the envelope later, I hope he didn't forget to. I also kind of hope that he at least gets a slight idea of what I wanted to tell him. I'll probably never find out what actually happened after he let go and walked away, but I guess that, if anyone ever asks me where the originals are, it's cooler to answer "I don't know, Pete Doherty has them" than "Uh, at home". I also didn't sign the pictures with my name, nor did I write a note to Pete, let alone a letter- I am this much of an idiot. I mean, an envelope screams for that sort of thing, doesn't it? Well, I was deaf to that. If I had written something, I'd have probably said the following:
Dear Bilo, please take this as a "thank you" and a token of support and love- I'm behind ya, mate. K xx
Or, perhaps, not.
PS: These are my post-babyshambles shoes... yikes
PPS: I had my oral bachelor exam in english literature yesterday and I got a 1,0 (the best possible result, for the foreign readers), which I'm pretty psyched about!
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