The work, rest, and play of Marty Hayes. . .

I was at the well-loved, well-respected live music venue, The Cluny t’other day for a regular dose of local, live music.

However, I noticed a few ten things which I fear may deem me ‘too old to go to gigs’ (at the ripe old age of 23):

1. I didn’t recognise any of the music played between bands
2. The music (see above) was too loud – I could barely hear myself talk never mind anyone else!
3. I didn’t seem to be wearing the new breed of gig-goers’ uniform which seems to have developed (crotch-restrictively-tight jeans & pointy shoes)
4. I felt very under-dressed – since when did people get ‘dressed up’ to go and see a band?!
5. I only came out with enough cash to get a rabbit drunk
6. The enjoyment of one band’s performances was marred by the vision of some middle-aged woman’s arse hanging out of her jeans that I could see out of the corner of my eye
7. I couldn’t understand what the singer was saying when he wasn’t singing
8. It was far too hot
9. That damn Too Far North stamp is as stubborn as a really stubborn mule!
10. I felt old enough to be some of the punters’ father

So, there you have it. I love music. I love live music. I love having a beer and watching a local band.

But I can’t stand all the things that go along with that, like people, and expensive beer, and loud/shit music!

Yep, I really am a grumpy old sod.