I can feel it now for the first time....the presence of the alcohol as it slowly invades my capillaries and blasts away my shame. Brain in denial. Body surrenders. Bollocksed. I sit back on my P.J O’Brien barstool and let the wee whiskey angels fly off with my canine soul.
And then it begins.
Doyle takes the stage like a lion takes a gazelle. Stalking. Unblinking eyes firmly focused on his prey. McCann is in unusually happy form no doubt having already spoken to several angels of his own. Lost cause. Bob looks concerned.
There is much media and many record company officials. Amazing really considering the lads are 15 years in. A little long in the teeth for pop stardom perhaps but tonite the news is all GBS. I must grudgingly admit to being just a little starstruck. Like many in the audience, I begin to feel that something important is about to happen. Macfarlane lays down the beat. Foster’s head begins to bobble and then the question is asked, “I wonder if you love me?” and the tiny room erupts.
The rest of the evening is a blur. Sparks of memory linger but i would be lying if I said I could make any sense of it. Apparently I wept.
No need to wonder Doyle.
The angels are with us.
Tosh