Last night was the best night
ever. I was right near the front, in the centre, close enough to see the beads of sweat on James Dean Bradfield's forehead.
They played two
brilliant sets — first, the new album, Journal for Plague Lovers, in its entirety, and then a bunch of old favourites, kicking off with Motorcycle Emptiness, and then
- Your Love Alone Is Not Enough
- No Surface All Feeling
- You Love Us
- Tsunami
- La Tristesse Durera
- Faster
- If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next
- Little Baby Nothing
- Australia
- You Stole The Sun From My Heart
- Sorrow 16
- Motown Junk
- Everything Must Go
...and then they finished by playing A Design For Life, with JDB holding out his mic to get the audience to sing. Of course, most of the audience, myself included, had sung along to every single song from both sets anyway, but this one, it was just us singing.
After the gig ended, I headed back towards London Bridge (via Marine Ices, of course) to catch the last train, where I bumped into Topper (
of the bolognaise/lasagne dilemma fame) and just as he was telling me about his personal game, Friday Night at London Bridge Bingo, involving many varieties of drunken people, we saw a zombie — not on his list of Things To Spot, apparently. Once on the train, I have vague recollections of hearing someone cry "fucking Muggles!" at other passengers, but I have no idea why.
Now on the coach home, feeling fantastic but knackered; I had a bit of a rush to get from
nanaya and
alextiefling's place in SE7 to Victoria in a little over an hour this morning. I made it, just, and collapsed into my seat with 2 minutes until departure. Now speeding along the motorway somewhere near Watford with air con blasting in my face, yay. Praying fervently for a stop at a services somewhere, as otherwise, it's a nonstop journey to Stockport, and I'm dying for a drink of water.
...k, passing out now.