Catmachine

Any regular readers of this blog (and excuse the hubris of even imagining for a moment that such things exist) may recall that I have blogged on more than one occasion about  Lush, one of my favourite ever bands , who I used to go and see as often as possible in the nineties and who recently announced that they would be reforming after twenty years. Of course I was going. They announced a couple of dates at the Roundhouse, for both of which I booked tickets, plus one in Manchester for which, after a moment's hesitation, I also booked a ticket. I could work out travel and accommodation later. I drew the line at the American dates - that would be ridiculous. And then with less than two months to go, they announced a warm-up gig in London a ticket for which I booked at the drop of a hat, sitting nervously in front of the computer refreshing the browser as the time approached 9am, waiting for them to go on sale. A long way from twenty years ago when I sent off a cheque or (rarely...

Recurring dreams don't have to be recurring nightmares. Most of the time they are though. You know the ones, where the creatures are coming to get you . They never quite succeed but as you wake in the dead of night the fear that they might do next time is very real. But I used to have a recurring dream that wasn't a nightmare. In fact it was quite the opposite. If you've been reading this blog for a while you may recall that one of my favourite bands of all time are Lush. An account of following their Split tour around in 1994 appeared on this very blog back in 2011 ( part 1 , part 2 , part 3 , part 4 ). Due to the tragic death of their drummer Chris there were no more Lush gigs after 1996. I don't think anyone expected there to be. Except, for some reason, my subconscious. From the first few years of the twenty-first century onwards I started having dreams that I was going to a Lush gig. It was always a gig by the reformed band (as opposed to a dream set in ...