There was only two people at the meeting I was running today, both been to plenty of meetings in Manchester with me as well. This is always disappointing when it is raining quite a lot. Ideally you want a meeting with about 6 people who are relative strangers to Manchester when the weather is like this. You can take the first couple of “it’s always like this in Manchester eh?” remarks, then by the last one you don’t say ‘aw fuck off mate’ but you let your eyes, pretty clearly, put that message across. Especially when they have come from somewhere like fucking Leicester. Gary Lineker, Willie Thorne and Kasabian: I’d rather have the fucking rain mate*.
The rain was not a promising signal of the conditions at Elbow tomorrow, though. Especially for a man whose footwear collection – though being quite sizeable – only consists of trainees and work shoes. Neither of which are tres suitable for skating through mud in.
There was a troubling moment today when I asked someone if they had a file with them that they had been emailed a few days earlier. They hadn’t as they had their laptop with them and they generally accessed their email via the PC they had at home. So they had to access the email, which I told them. Simultaneously I was having phone issues and stepped out of the room to try and call someone – but the phone problem I was having was that my phone wasn’t working so it made making a phone call difficult. When I went back in the room a couple of minutes later, hoping to have this fucking file accessed, the person involved said “I don’t know how to access my email”.
We’re not talking someone who isn’t very intelligent here – or software savvy. I walked around to his laptop to see what the problem was – surely he was struggling with the poor internet connection at the hotel or something, because it had to be something more complicated than accessing an email. So, I was surprised to see the laptop screen on Google with e-mail the phrase in the search engine. ‘Oh fucking hell,’ I thought, ‘this person isn’t as competent as I thought.’ Only I thought their name instead of ‘this person’ and instead of ‘isn’t as competent as I thought’ I thought ‘is as mad a shit-house rat’. Maybe.
It was a bit like the end of The Wizard of Oz. I don’t mean the very end when she wakes up, I mean the bit where she discovers the wizard is just a man behind a screen.
It didn’t cause too much of an issue though and was all sorted with far too much fuss to be reasonable. Especially as I was still feeling dizzy. How long do you let something like this go on for? I know I had a lot to drink BUT IT WAS SIX DAYS AGO. Anyway, I definitely didn’t go to the drop-in centre at Manchester Royal and see a doctor after enough people telling me not to mess about when it comes to your head. That didn’t happen. I didn’t waste a doctor’s time checking me out and he didn’t just say something along the lines of ‘it says on your medical records you can handle a drink, I’ve deleted that now so future doctors will know that you cannot handle a few drinks’.
*I quite like all three, in order: 1)Gaz Links 2)Kasabez 3)Bill Thorne.