Leeds
If you’d have told me that when I went to Leeds for the weekend to see my aunt’s art exhibition, I would:
a) spend Friday evening stalking the newsreader Peter Levy
b) spend Saturday night dancing to Chesney Hawkes live, grasp his hand and develop a crush on him
c) not actually see my aunt’s art exhibition,
I would have said “don’t be daft” but that is what happened! Surely this is not normal?
Emma and I arrived in Leeds early and returned to the train station to meet Arasi at 9.30pm. Arasi greeted us with an obscure look on her face and exclaimed that she thought she had just seen Peter Levy! She put her avid Agatha Christie reading to good use by giving a full description of his clothing and movements. She had considered going to talk to him but what could she say as she had never actually seen the programme and besides he went to a cash point and it always looks a little dodgy approaching someone in that area.
As he had spent some time looking at the departure boards we surmised that he was either waiting for a train to Hull or waiting for someone to arrive from Hull so we somehow ended up spending about an hour hanging around the station in case he came back. I know it sounds rather stalky and a sad way to spend a Friday night but as I said to my companions at the time, we were putting our critical analysis and observation skills to the test while having a catch up so we may as well have stood there as in a bar or café, particularly as it was fairly mild. The hour flew by and as soon as the Hull train left, so did we, having not seen him which was probably a blessing in disguise as it may have looked a tad dodgy.
We are pretty certain it was him as Arasi is apparently very good at remembering faces and I showed her my badge for comparative purposes and she said it was definitely him. Thank goodness I carry it around with me!
On Saturday we went to Kirkstall Abbey and Museum getting back to Leeds at around 4pm. My aunt’s art exhibition finished at 5pm so I thought that instead of rushing round it we ought to go for tea and cake at the Tiled Hall Café nearby instead and go to the art exhibition the following day - not realising that the exhibition was not open on Sunday. Not sure I’m going to undo the Otter-Camera damage with this.
While partaking of the comestibles, Arasi suggested that we check out the cinema listings to see if there was an early showing of something before we went out for the evening. There wasn’t. But there was a leaflet advertising Chesney Hawkes at TigerTiger. When I suggested we go, I was fully expecting the suggestion to be shot down by Emma and Arasi but surprisingly, Emma was all for it. Arasi was less keen but when I pointed out that the alternative was spending the evening at the West Yorkshire Playhouse as Peter Levy is known to go there, she begrudgingly agreed that this was the more preferable option.
We spent the lead up to the night out playing the Amish game Dutch Blitz while Emma reminded Arasi of the wonders of The One and Only on her Ipod and then having a meal at Café Rouge.
At TigerTiger we spied out where we thought he might be appearing and set up camp just to the side of the stage where there was a ledge and because, at that point, we were not fans, just ironic bystanders. About 15 minutes before he came on, some girls stood their ground right in front of the stage holding their cameras firmly in their hands and I said to Emma and Arasi “How sad are they? They are real fans!”
When he walked on I acted as a groupie with cheering while thinking he still looked about 12. Then he came to the front and started playing. I’m not quite sure when and how it happened but at some stage I went from pretending to be a fan to striving to show in my eyes, dance moves and arm waving that I understood and respected his talent and loved him. I think it was when he started talking about there being lots of hen night girls I found I wanted to call out “I’m single Chesney” that I realised a fundamental change had occurred. When he started slapping people’s hands I found myself thinking “oh my God he is slapping people’s hands, I want to grasp his hand”. Funnily enough, on his second round of slapping, he grasped my hand. It was amazing and I felt there was a bond there. However, in the cold light of a Monday morning, I wondered if he did in fact initiate the grasping. It seems slightly odd that he only slapped everyone else’s hand but grabbed mine, particularly when I had just been stood thinking “I want to grasp his hand”. I am a little worried that it was me who in fact grasped his hand when everyone else was content with a slap. Oops. Though it definitely became two way.
I don’t understand what has happened to me as I thought there was no danger of me developing a crush on Chesser or in fact enjoying listening to the rest of his music. Perhaps I just got caught up in the moment and carried away.
It was the Vengaboys at Shag all over again!