Oasis, rain, being jobless and Bungalow 8.

Ok so a pretty bizarre week of mixed experiences and emotions. On the one hand the early summer sunshine that spread through most of June has now given way to hail storms, grey skies and general misery. Add to this the fact that getting a proper job is almost impossible at the moment and you can understand why I'm pining for the sunny beaches of Columbia and Miami, instead of the utterly shite place that is a recession hit London in the middle of an utterly miserable July. On the other, more positive hand I had some pretty good nights out on the town last week to get over these mid-summer blues! (Is there such a thing or am I just a depressive fuck?)

So firstly the action packed night that was Oasis at Wembley last Thursday. Despite the fact that I have never seen them live previous to the gig, they are possibly, actually no definitely, my most favorite of bands, despite the fact that both Liam and Noel support Manchester City and have been known to make rather disparaging remarks about their red neighbors. In short I had been looking forward to this night for about two months and it didn't disappoint. 

There were inevitably various shit aspects to the day: I was hungover, there wasn't much sun, beer inside cost £4 a pint and the crowd was generally full of cunts from Hertfordshire who kept singing 'OASIS, OASIS' like moronic plebs who thought going to a concert was akin to going to watch England play football. Despite these disappointments it was without doubt a fucking class day out, with a few pleasant surprises along the way. Perhaps the biggest was Wembley itself, which proved to be a far better concert arena than atmospheric football ground. Having only previously attended the new version of our National Stadium for last season's Charity Shield encounter with Portsmouth, which proved beyond doubt that United's support contains some of the world's biggest tools, I was not really holding out much hope for an evening of atmosphere and passion. That afternoon back in August had to be one of the most disappointing of my life, forced to watch a terrible game of football in a soulless concrete bowl, sat next to a middle aged couple from Watford dressed in replica kits and some bizarre red and white jester hats. 

Oasis could not have been more different, for a start we were standing on the pitch itself, which was absolutely bloody brilliant as being stood right in the middle of a 90,000 stadium is always going to be awe-inspiring, whatever the occasion.  Then there were the warmup acts, amongst the best rock bands in Britain today; namely The Enemy and Kasabian. Now I'm definitely no kind of expert when it comes to indie music or whatever people choose to call it, but if there was one thing to admire in both of these acts, it was the laddishness and thuggery they exuded.  Their attitudes and stage presence go hand in hand with the very essence of a form of masculinity that in many ways feels slightly outdated, yet much missed in the Brave New World of Coldplay, Razorlight and god-help us the Blur reunion. Both The Enemy and Kasabian mirror the best elements of early Oasis, with their Stone Island Jackets, Madchester haircuts (a la Ian Brown) and great anthemic tunes which all run along the lines of getting really fucked up on a combination of booze, drugs and pretty girls. They got the crowd going, the cups of piss and random shoes flying around and generally made sure that by 8:20pm when Oasis took to the stage, everyone was absolutely buzzing. 

So then the headliners themselves. From the frankly mental opening rendition Rock n' Roll Star, which basically ended up causing a vast mosh pit with lads jumping on each other and kicking fat birds in the face right through to the soulful rendition of  Champagne Supernova it was everything you wanted from an Oasis concert and more. Yes there were a few sound problems, yes some overeager cunt almost ripped my Armani leather jacket (never wearing that on a night out again!) and yes maybe there were slightly too many people but the general consensus was: 'Fucking Yes what a night, still the best band in the world!' 

So anyway Thursday over the following night saw me and a few mates manage to get into Bungalow 8 in central London. I only mention this because the guy who got us in had to be the biggest fuckhead ever, a fact illustrated by his ridiculous fucking fringe and his insistence on telling his mate: "Last night was propa messy!" It's a general rule that anyone who says that must a) Be a flid who was bullied at school and b) Someone who actually likes Skins and c) Thinks the painfully forced 'lingo' characters use in the show should be reproduced in real life conversations. As for the club itself it was nice but full of high class hookers, snooty, hatchet-faced promoters and bald lads wearing trendy clothes. But I'm not having a go, cos I would like to go back!

So all in all a boring week made good by Oasis and a twat who liked Skins. In the words of Liam and Noel: 'You gotta roll with it!'