Seeking inspiration part 2
After the euphoria, the descent.
Burton-on-Trent seems a distant memory. Did I really stand... there? Say... that? Meet... him? And him? Was I really there at all? The welcomes by the other fans, the personal involvement with the whole occasion, the lightness of head and weakness of gut and feel of unreality...
No. It didn't happen, surely. I never saw anything, said anything, wrote anything. But, at the same time, disbelieving, I have tried to recreate the moment. I have dredged through the back-catalogues, listened incessantly to the music, read the FAQs, hunted for tickets, sought to participate, voraciously devoured the mailings and replied with equal fervour. Look at me! Let me in! I'm here! It's happening! I'm a part of something - huge! Look at me, Mum, I'm on top of the world!
Who am I trying to kid? What am I trying to achieve - share the love of the music of a certain band, or indulge myself at the expense of others? This, close-knit community does not exist for my own benefit, it was there long, long before I came on the scene and will be around long after me. I return, back to my mundane little life in a quiet town in a quiet county, somewhere in the world.
Sorry. Even as I apologise I eulogise. Even here. I can't resist the opportunity. Calm down, deep breaths.
I need some answers. What's going on here? What makes fans tick? Why do they (I'd love to say "us fans", but let's face it, I'm barely out of britches when it comes to the fan thing) cross continents to participate in events that cost a tenth - a hundredth - of the travel expenses? Do they feel they want to, need to or ought to come? Do they end up satisfied, resentful, gagging for more or are they too busy making plans for the next time to notice? I sense a challenge. And, with the challenge, an opportunity. An event on the horizon might well furnish me with some answers, if only I could get there. I send one more, hopeless email, pleading for a ticket to La Scala. Fat chance, I think to myself as I hit "send," but within a day I have struck gold. To my astonishment a real Marillion fan (living not twenty minutes drive away) emails me back to say he has a spare ticket. I'm going to La Scala!
I'm going to La Scala. Not as one of the gang, that would be presumptuous - though I hope the gang will continue to extend the welcome they have already shown. Nor as the arriviste set to attack each new opportunity with maniacal fervour, to be in on the act whether the act wants me there or not. I shall go as myself, with open eyes and realistic aims - to have fun, to share an experience, to be there.
And now, with less than a week to go, I find the excitement and apprehension is starting to build. What will it be like? Who will go? What will happen? What of the fans - who will I meet? What will I find? Will events conspire against me going? Will I say something stupid? What should I wear? Now hang on, I'm starting to panic. I realise that what will be, will be. I will go to La Scala, and all will unfold as it should. Whatever I do or say right now will have absolutely no bearing, so I might as well learn a little patience and wait.
Six days to go, and counting.
Diary of a Web newbie (part 4)
And so, to La Scala and the end of what was begun only a few short weeks ago. This is a difficult one to write. I bared my soul after the Bass gig, fortunately to a positive response. But that experience, and the inspiration I took from it, are both now in the past. I realise that I have come to the end of an episode, and that from this point on I can be a newbie no more. It was delightful while it lasted, and I might as well finish telling the tale. The lava lamp is on, so here goes.