Fat Bomb!

We just got back from a mad festival – ATP (All tomorrows Parties) on
the coast in East Sussex. Each year they're curated by a different
artist/performer, a few years ago it was done by Sonic Youth. This
year was by Vincent Gallo, the director of Buffalo 66, so it was
pretty eclectic with people like Lydia Lunch, Jon Spencer's Blues
Explosion, Money Mark, PJ Harvey, John Frusciante (from the Chillie
Peppers), some freaky Japanese birds called Afrirampo and bunch of
others including Yoko Ono and Son, Sean Lennon.

I mentioned the last two because I've got a bit of a tale about ole Sean.

So we got there, Me, Reg, and Sandy, and checked in to get the key to
our room. Yeah, that's right, a ROOM! Everyone gets a little motel
room with a kitchen, bathroom, fridge and TV (which was constantly
showing Gallo's favourite flicks), enough room for four. No more muddy
tents, no more being covered crap for days and dying to get home into
that shower to scrape your cake. This is the festival of style.

We dumped our bag, cracked open the bottles, and checked the line up.
First up were the freaky Japanese birds that have a sound like the
Ramones with kitsch edge.

'Let's take some Mushies,' Sandy said.

We did.

So the Japs were pumping, we were buzzing, and I spot none other than
Vinny Gallo sitting in front of the stage in the VIP section.

I gotta congratulate him, I think. I push my way to the front and lean
over the barrier placing both hands on his shoulders with my arse in
the air to the crowd. 'Vincent,' I say.

He looks up at me, smiles, and pats my hand.

'Do you like the girls?' I point to the stage.

'Yes, they're a pair of my favourite artists.'

'Well done, mate. I love your work. Can I buy you a drink?'

Then Sean Lennon leans across me and whispers something to Vinny.
Sean's eyes glaring at me. That might be Sean, and I might be
tripping, but the guy just acted like a rude prick. Me and Vinny were
talking.

I see Yoko sitting next to him.

'Sean,' I say, 'How are you?'

'Good, thank you.' He looks back at the band. I tap him on the
shoulder, 'That's awfully nice of you to bring your ole mum along.'

He glances at Yoko, back at me and smiles.

'So Sean' I lean in close. 'How do you feel about living in the shadow
of your father?'

He doesn't look back, but I can see the pink rising under chin where
his beard gets thin. The guy even looks like he's impersonating his
father. I let the crowd swallow me back up and it's not until after
that I thought of the killer touch, by saying, 'and your mother.'

I know. He's human like the rest of us and he's got feelings. I've
been through my next morning shame, feeling bad with my serious
hangover, but it's not like I ruined his life. He's probably alre4ady
been through years of therapy and just didn't know how to respond in a
single sentence to my question. And he played really crap the next day
so I feel totally justified.

On other news, Anzac day was here today and I made my students have a
moment of silence, not that I bothered to explain it to them in too
much detail; I've got a couple of Turks in class. The little murdering
bastards. Just joking. I know it was the English.

So I'm counting down the days left at work, only eleven to go (that's
working days). And I had the conversation with my boss, Darren, today
about taking three weeks unpaid leave after I've had my fill with paid
leave. He hasn't said 'no' yet.

He crossed his legs and recrossed them three times, before he said,
'Well Tom, I don't know about this.' (Think fat camp man with short
arms and big hands, waving them about) He exudes a tight smarmy smile.
'How do we know this isn't going to happen again?'

'Huh?' I say, but I'm thinking 'I fucking wish, mate. Five star
accommodation for free, if it happens again I won't be asking.

'I mean what if you're girlfriend has to...'

'My fiancé,' I corrected.

'Yes, if she has to go off to India again in six months. We can't be
creating a situation. We have to hire someone to cover your teaching,
you know?'

Yeah right, I'm thinking, we've been short staffed of tutors for six
months with everyone covering two classes when the teachers are sick.
These people are tight. But I know it all comes down to money, and I
play my winning loyalty card,

'Look, I understand if you can't wait that long. I'll just apply for
my job when I get back.'

It'll be months before they get their act together.

'I can't tell you now.' He's waving his hands about. 'But I'll give
you answer at the end of the week.

'That's fine.' After all, I'm thinking it mustn't be his decision.
He's got to speak to his boss. But either way, it's good to be in a
position where you don't really care. You always feel like you're
winning.