Muse

Behold my comedy magic

When you see a global email ping into your iinbox at work you expect the usual; sweets in the kitchen, someone leaving for pastures new who will miss you all terribly, an email about an uncoming football game. But what I got the other month was something a lil different. An offer to see a Muse concert none-the-less. At Wembley stadium.

Now when I get a carrot like that dangled in front of your face I rarely say no. Cos I’m a cheapskate. Even if, and please don’t judge me, you don’t really like Muse. I don’t dislike them either per se it’s just I’m rather indifferent to them. Like cuccumber in sandwiches or Norwegiens.

The only catch to the whole setup was that I dress up like a protestor, grab a placard and make a wally of myself in front of the entire audience. And when I say ‘catch’ I mean added ‘incentive.’ As I’m rather attached to my inner imbecile and like making a tit of myself in a consequence free environment.

So what did being a protestor actually involve in real world terms? Firstly you had to queue for alot of things. Patiently and quietly. You had to turn up nice and early (6pm), you had to queue to get your back stage wrist band, you had to be ushered through the inner catacombs of Wembley stadium in single file to a holding room (I am not a number!) and sit quietly for a further two hours before donning your protestor garb, (red or black hoodies with matching head gear and placards – we were very chic) which was then followed by a spot of further queuing by the wings of the stage. It was all very exciting. Like the time my cat brought a live squirrel into the living room but with less blood and less screaming.

And then we stood waiting for 20 mintues in the company of perhaps the most complaint and jolly group of protestors the world has ever seen (which included notorious hell raisers Anna ‘ohhhh cup of tea please’ Robb and Victoria ‘I like cats’ Henstock) I tried to shift down the line to join my mate Rocki only to be told by secuirty that “protestors aren’t allowed to swap places” which to me was the most absurd thing since General Patton declared “Gentlemen, there is no fighting in the war room!”

I actually said that to people as I stood in the queue but all I got was blank stares.

Dr Strangelove?

Non?

Fuck you all.

Anyway I eventually skulked to the back when he wasn’t looking. Not that he would have noticed anyway. What with me being dressed identically to 50% of the other protestors.

And then our moment of glory. With seemingly zero warning we were ushered out in front of 60,000 thousand baying fans who were taking our photos. I felt like I was a contestant leaving the Big Brother house except I had the banner. And I was dressed like a ninja/berk. People took photos and screamed indecipherable nonsense at me. I responded in kind. Somebody reached out to touch me (thanks?) I posed like a slut for three girls who were taking pictures of me, which to be fair is only to be expected as I do hold wooden placards in a particulalrly erotic fashion. (Between the legs, textbook.)

And then POOF! people suddenly decided a wierdo leaping around waving a banner wasn’t that interesing after all and that Matt Bellamy, armed with a guitar and wearing a sequined suit, who was only three feet above me on stage, was actually alot more entertaining.

Fans can be so fickle…

And before you could say ‘who were those plonkers’ we were ushered off by security like yesterday’s news. Like a group of colour co-ordinated lepers who had outstayed their welcome. I texted friends in the crowd to see if they saw me, which of course they didn’t, which only made my banner ‘I am not a drop in the ocean’ all the more ironic.

Still, top night and a free concert to boot!