The End of The World conjures up several images, the first would be The Dave Matthews band and that song from the "Everyday" album "When the World Ends".
It is quite a sexy song, you know "When the world ends, just get your things, you're coming with me. When the world ends..." Bit scarey too, but what the hoo haa? Woman is alive!
It wasn't released because of the September 11th crap, instead they released "The Space Between", well that is to say they release "The Space Between" here in the UK. Who knows about America?
Going back to last year. It was November 12th, a Tuesday, and I was being interviewed for a job.
The job was crap and they offered me a piddling little 12 grand a year, so I told them to shove it inside their rectums and made reference to places where the sun doesn't shine.
They, in turn, advised me to take a run and jump in the nearest lake. What do they know? The nearest lake I know of is Lake Windermere. I would be hard pressed to find a lake in London, they should have referred to the Thames instead.
Upon leaving the interview I walk down Tottenham Court Road, regaining my non pre-menstrual composure and considering the Thames option, I look at the numerous shops I pass by and window shop. God! Some of these shops cater to women who are no bigger than my index finger. HATE THEM!
So, I soon come to the Virgin Megastore. It's a record shop. There is this sign right - it says Dave Matthews Here Today!
"I know them" I think to myself, so in I goes and I see albums. Albums? Yes! Albums. I am 31 and thought albums were dead, replaced now by CDs. God! The expense of replacing one's record collection springs to mind as I muse through.
So, I look at these vinyl disks and recall buying such classics as Malcolm Maclaren's Buffalo Girls and other classics like Adam and the Ants, Duran Duran, Culture Club and more. I pick up an album and it is by some Snoop Droop Poopy Scoopy fella and there is another one by Icey Tea with Lemon or something. Kids today? What crap they listen to, eh?
OK - So I wait around and pick up "Everyday", that's the album by the Dave Matthews Band and figure I will have it.
Well, all the shop assistants are wearing these stupid green T shirts with "I Am Dave Matthews" plastered all over them.
This Dave Matthews bloke must be alright with all of these people crowded around, despite the T shirts, so I bought the CD wondering if it was on vinyl.
Standing around - and my back is killing me - all I hear are AMERICANS. God! They get everywhere don't they? Their chewy accents and everything.
This girl with long, curly blonde hair and a figure the size of my index finger, starts moaning because "Dave was meant to be out at 1 o'clock and it's now 1.30."
"Gawd!" She says, a force 9 gale coming from her mouth as she spoke, totally ruining my hairpiece. "Gawd! Aye only got me an hour lunch breek!" And she starts banging on about 4 albums and how pathetic it was that she couldn't go downstairs considering she was American.
I think "Downstairs? We can go downstairs? Buggery Buggers!" So I stand there with my back murdering me and this American girl breathing Wrigley's spearmint gum up me nostrils.
Hanging around I start to recall John Bon Jovi. It was a fair few years back when I was walking down Marble Arch and couldn't pass by this building somewhere, don't recall where, because there were about 75 photographs and 85 camera crews all jostling for space to catch something.
I stand around a wee bit and am told, by this wonderfully handsome chap (yes I remember that, nudge, nudge, wink, wink) that Bon Jovi will be playing.
Being several years younger and totally starstruck I waited. It was a mere 3 minutes before John Bon Jovi came out, with his guitar and started playing. If that is his own hair I am a chimpanzee.
He looked straight at me, pointed and winked. I turned around and there is no one behind me. "What a tw*t!" I thought, as he played "Living on a Prayer".
Every media person shouting, screaming and clicking away.
Some media types shouted obscenities to get a reaction, but most went along with the ride and that night the whole episode hit UK TV and was promoted as an "On Spec Performance". My arse was it "On Spec."
I mean hundreds of TV people taking pictures that appeared in the papers the next day? No way was that "On Spec" That was totally contrived and I became disillusioned with him and all other rock musicians, especially after U2 had already sold out several years before.Going back to Dave
Matthews then. It is about 1.45 and out he comes. God! I see this bloke with a guitar who just plays. Just plays and that is it. No prententions, no finger pointing and winking. He chats about some politican in a place called Colorado, or something, and tells us about "pants".
Being English we call them trousers, but I got the gist of his joke about pants nonetheless. I laughed politely, but really just didn't get it. Americans!
This Dave bloke, he has a receeding hair line, plays his guitar like it were a nipple warmer and he looked like he crawled out of bed 10 minutes earlier.
Nothing pretentious at all, a most enjoyable experience on the whole, though I suspect he was a little happy - nothing wrong with being happy.
He plays like, oh I dunno, 4 songs? And then I leave. I could have got me CD signed by him - but after the Bon Jovi winking episode I did not want my illusion smashed.
I leave the store and jump onto the tube. I get the Central Line and that voice that tells you what the next station is? Well, she says something and no one can hear it.
"Whaat did she say?" Yes, an American sits opposite me. "God! Another Yank" - I thought. Force 9 gales, spearmint gum and he took up 3 seats with his legs and guitar case.
Quite a nice bloke as it goes. He's got a receeding hair line and I tell him that she said "This train stops at Northolt" and he tells me about cheap air fares, selling his tennis club and being from Colorado which is at the tip of Texas, or something.
The train stops as we talk and these muslims get on. "Oh Know!" They sit all around me and I look at the yank and we both think the same thing with our facial expressions.
To change the subject I tell him about seeing Dave Matthews and about my interview. He tells me about Portabello Road and we discuss the merits and pitfalls of goods brought "off the back of a lorry"
My station is up, I wish my new tube friend well and depart.
"You should listen to ants marching!" He shouts as I hop off the train. What I would want to do with listening to ants marching? I don't know. But I politely wave and smiled.
I was struck rigid when I realised who he was.