Nottingham*

* A blog post proffering oh so low quality photographs… we were in a hurry.

A last-minute grand-parental offer to look after Alex, and some equally last-minute hawking about for tickets, saw Emma and I head off to a gig - Damien Rice (singer/song-writer). Unusually, this meant going out, on a Friday, together.

Neither of us were especially au fait with Nottingham – for gig, ‘twas there, nor were we up to date with the Rice repertoire, but still, like that mattered - we were going out, on a Friday, together.

En route:

Emma: You’ll probably have to replace this (car) in the next year or so.
Shane: Nonsense - in ordinary car terms, my trusty Peugeot steed - no ordinary car - is a mere teenager.

Closing in on Nottingham:

Emma: (Looking leftwards) Ugly, those things, aren’t they?
Shane: I like them – they’re so dramatic – bit like the ones on the M1 near Sheffield – they spring out of nowhere, and they’re so close to the road that you do drive in their shadow.
Emma: Unless you’re driving at night.
Shane: Yeah.

Pre-gig dining:

Shane: (thinking ‘I can only just about move following my late enormo-lunch’) I’ll be light-biting – healthily, even.
Emma: You trying to impress me?
Shane: Not now, not ever!
Emma: (amused) This place - its lighting…
Shane: I know where it reminds me of.
Emma: Green tights?
Shane: (blissfully) Mm.

Emma: Bad… but good.

Shane: That was good.

Emma: Mm, apart from the...

Following a bit of work-talk, Emma glanced over some notes that I handed to her:

Shane: I like the fact that I can make lazy reference to ‘Chancellor's annual spending review’ and you know what I’m talking about.

Emma: Must mean that we’re meant to be together… ‘They know their policy frameworks – woo-hoo!’

Shane: We’ll have to get going soon.
Emma: One last drink?

Shane: (checks time) Oh what the heck – it’s Friday, we’re out, let’s go a bit mad!

Emma: Let's.

Shane: We’ll have to hurry if we’re to catch the support act.

Emma: Look! A grand building! Get it!

Shane: Got it earlier.
Emma: Good work, keep moving!

…

Shane: You see those flowers?
Emma: Yeah.
Shane: If we weren’t in a hurry, I’d get you some.
Emma: And I’d say ‘thank you’.

Shane: You’d be welcome.

Shane: Whew! Tickets?

Emma: They're here.

Shane: I hear music – the support act is on.
Emma: You know you ought to be careful.
Shane: What do you mean?

Emma: Going round appearing to take pictures of strangers’ crotches isn’t generally seen as an ok thing.

Shane: Annnnnnnd relax.
Emma: It’s very… convention-al, isn’t it?
Shane: Mm, makes me want to preach.

Emma: Please don’t.

Back in the car, after a very good gig (that later sparked a weekend of Ricesque warbling, ‘Stones taught me to…’):

Emma: Do you think we’ll be here long?
Shane: No – it’ll clear soon. You can sleep if you like.

Emma: Ta.

One hour of Emma sleep later:

Emma: (Groggy) Oh. I thought I’d been asleep for a while.
Shane: You have.
Emma: Have we moved?
Shane: We’ve come down two levels – only five more to go.
Emma: Hey ho.

And as the in-car digital display begins to flash ‘Brake Fluid – Level Low’ (I was too distracted to take a picture):

Shane: Oh bollocks - my trusty steed’s trying to tell me something.
Emma: (noting the digital display) Bloody teenagers!
Shane: (unimpressed) I'm eyeing you.

Emma: Later, if you're lucky.

And on that note, the steed bucked-up its ideas and got us (and itself) home in tact.

.

And that, was our Nottingham.

.

It was good.