Rock n’ Roll

Well, hello, ’tis I, your  redheaded blogger-friend, who hasn’t actually updated her blog in WEEKS, but who still expects you all to be faithfully reading along, even although you probably unsubscribed weeks ago, and are only here now because I kept tweeting the link, and you eventually just clicked on it to shut me up. Bloggers, eh?

I didn’t actually intend to disappear for so long: it’s been a really hectic couple of weeks, though, which culminated at the weekend with this:

rock band on stage

That’s my dad (on vocals), my uncle (on guitar) and my cousin (on drums), all being rock stars. Of course, my family have always been rock stars as far as I’m concerned, but back in the 70s, my dad and uncle (who’s my mum’s brother) played in a band together: a band which had assumed almost mythical status in my mind, so much had I heard about it. Although I’d heard all about those days, however, I’d never actually seen the band perform, because by the time I was born, they’d split up, leaving only one fuzzy audio recording, and a whole lot of stories. A few years later, my uncle and aunt moved to Canada, the bass player moved to Texas… basically, there was never really a time when everyone was in the same country at the same time, so a reunion had never been possible.

Until this weekend.

A few months ago, it was decided that the time was right for the great band reunion.  A venue was found, flights were booked, people flew in from their various countries, including my cousin, (who I last saw when he was five), who was standing in for the original drummer, who hadn’t been well, and wasn’t sure he’d be able to perform. As it turned out, he did manage to do a couple of songs after all, so the band was reunited, and I finally got to see them.


They. Were. Amazing.

Seriously: I’ve heard my dad sing, obviously, and I’ve seen my uncle play guitar. I’ve never seen them on stage, performing as a band, though, and pretty much as soon as my dad took to the stage, I started filling up. He was absolutely amazing: I was so proud, and only a tiny bit emotional. OK, a big bit emotional. In a good way, though.

I also took the opportunity to wear Dress # 74. Because, you know, none of the other 73 dresses I own would do, apparently.

(I had literally about two minutes to take some photos for Shoeperwoman before our taxi arrived, so of course every single one of them came out blurry. I’ve bumped up the contrast in a bid to distract you with my extreme pallor, so… er, let’s just pretend that worked, OK? While we’re at it, let’s also pretend I don’t have that random piece of hair sticking out the side of my head. Your co-operation in this matter is greatly appreciated…)

This particular dress was actually free, because I bought it with some River Island vouchers I won. Free dresses totally don’t count, do they?

Also:

My uncle and aunt went to Paris last week, and I asked them to pop into Ladurée and get me some OMGMACRONS, so I could be a giant fashion blogger cliché and take a photo of them for my blog. I feel like I finally fit in now, only not really. They were pretty damn tasty, though, let me tell you.

Anyway: it was a fantastic night, and we got to catch up with lots of friends and family we haven’t seen for a while, which made it even better. Now we just have to persuade them all to do it again sometime…