One of my favourite worst nightmares so far happened a week ago in a commune in Gard, France called Nîmes, largely known for several remains of the Roman Empire. A few months before, I was somewhat hesitant to book the tickets for two main reasons: firstly, I was unsure about my working schedule, and secondly, I was confident I could still secure a ticket. Until such a time as I finally made up my mind, it was too late. I still pushed through with the trip, though, keeping my fingers crossed to eventually score a pass under-the-table, maybe from scalpers. Spoiler alert, I didn't ⚠
Fast-forward to that night on 17th of July, it literally felt like I ain't quite where I think I am. Found myself on star treatment, sitting on a bench & stargazing, crying lightning outside la Tour Magne, while Arctic Monkeys gives a Live! performance of a lifetime, a few meters away, so near yet so far. Towards the night's conclusion, they played Do I Wanna Know and then Body Paint, and minutes later people were screaming for more, so they went for more, including R U Mine?.
Pretending to attend a concert from the outside is the worst. Being there but not really there, made no perfect sense at all. Nevertheless, I made sure to do me a favour by making a way to snap out of it. For the greater part of the night, I was actually away, rather than doing The Bad Thing. Sure, There’d better be a mirrorball, somewhere. To sum it up, I walked around, went beer-hopping, and heavily engaged with the other festival activities, which wasn’t a bad of an idea at all.
