[sic] Magazine

Feeder – Live at the De Mountford Hall, Liverpool

November 2008

Jake was an arse man. At least, this is what he thought to himself as he fingered the flecks of grey which peppered his beard in Daphne’s full length mirror. It had been the first time they had slept together since the speed-dating game the guys in the office had signed him up to. His first marriage had collapsed that previous Fall, his wife citing unreasonable demands in the bedroom. He got along well with Daphne, or so it seemed, and now Jake was no longer faced with the prospect of endless winter nights alone in the deluxe apartment in central Basingstoke, a suite his firm were paying for . Jake had been head-hunteed by the Reed recruitment agency, his knowledge of PL/SQL and Oracle Forms Version 12.0 were a bonus for any firm and, by God, Jake knew it. He had his employer over a barrel, a position he had so often perfected in the bedroom. A regular team player, Jake was not shy of putting in a few extra hours, but what the hell – he was a contractor.

He knew he’d be paid for every single minute that he put in, plus those he spent hiding in the toilets with a three week old copy of the Daily Star, featuring that ex-Brookside actress, the one who had been linked with Steven Gerard. Such girls were out of his league, Jake told himself, but what did that matter now he had Daphne. What’s more Daphne knew how to cook pasta! Jake bet himself that the actress girl couldn’t tell the difference between Farfalle and Rigatoni – one is shaped like a butterfly, the other is sort of tubey -her culinary expertise being limited to popping in microwave meals and waiting for the bell to go off. All those photo shoots and celebrity appearances no doubt took up a lot of her time, Jake opined, time she would have otherwise spent learning to cook.

In that instant, he had an idea what he would get Daphne for Christmas. He would buy her one of those cylindrical vases for storing pasta in, yes – that’s a great idea, he told himself. It’s both practical and not too soppy. After all – it’s not as if we’ve been dating for long. “I don’t want to appear over keen by buying her a ring or one of those shit Hello Kitty toys, cheap though they are. I could always buy her a coat” he mumbled to himself.

“What’s that Jake ?” said Daphne, returning from the bathroom, walking rather gingerly.

“Hey you – c’mere! ” . Jake began pawing at Daphne’s kimono, a gift from her sister. The fact that Fifi, Daphne’s sister, was very generously proportioned, was something that hadn’t been lost on Jake

“Not now Jake, we’re doing a Secret Santa at the office and I need to get down to Habitat before they close. I haven’t bought anything yet”

“I don’t know why people bother with those things” said Jake “I normally end up with a packet of dog-worming tablets, in spite of shelling out loads of money on their present”

“I’m not planning on spending more than a fiver” Daphne replied

“What’s for tea tonight honeypot? ”

“Why, I thought I’d cook pasta again. Linguini – if that’s alright?”

“Fine by me” said Jake, smiling to himself, the smile turning to a wince as he tried to
remove a loose fingernail with a blunt pair of clippers.

“That’s a new one on me”, thought Jake, “She’s done three different varieties of pasta in the last week alone. It doesn’t get much more exotic than this” he quietly congratulated himself. “’Adda boy Jakey – I always knew you’d come up trumps” Jake continued now seemingly engaged in a conversation with his subconscious, which had now re-emerged after the punishing bout of lovemaking he’d just put himself and Daphne through…..

Feeder came on stage sometime between 9pm and 10pm and played a blinding set to a set of grateful, if naive, students. As usual at gigs, there was a mixture of older material and stuff off the new album which was probably released sometime in 2008. Sometime around eleven, the band played an encore, whilst respecting the curfew – put in place to help fans and bands alike and is in no way intended to suit the venue or it’s interests. Further details are sketchy because I didn’t actually attend the gig due to a last minute change of heart and tentative signs, later proved correct, that I was coming down with a nasty head cold. Bless.

A sign of Feeder’s market value is that I was only able to raise £10 for two tickets
from a tout who assured me that it would be a quiet night due to the Liverpool game an the incessant rainfall that the North West of England was then experiencing. I’d like to thank the queue of students I walked past who, despite my attempts to flog the tickets, very reasonably I thought, at face value, stared at me blankly and not a little smugly. I’d also like to thank patrons of the Augustus John public house who retained their good humour despite my persistent attempts to disrupt the flow of their conversation by waving tickets in their cherubic faces and shouting “Feeder!” every third second. On returning home I was dismayed to find no trace of “The Sixth Sense with Colin Fry” among the viewing schedules. All things considered, I’ve had better nights.

to be continued, possibly