Thursday 18th January 1996
Catatonia gig – The Terminal at 7.30.
An eventful day that is ending in a bizarre way. I had my follow up meeting for the B.I.P. this morning which went brilliantly. I am really enjoying spending time with different people. Ben and Sophie are so friendly and easy to talk to – I just love being in their company. OK, so Sophie can be a bit stressy and straight but this is balanced out by Ben’s chilled out, confident attitude. Ben believes our project will be great and therefore, I believe it too. Maybe confidence is contagious?
He finished His final mid-year exam today so we decided to celebrate with curry. We then went to the faithful Tafarn to meet Maisie and Rhys for a few beers before the gig. All was going well, The Taf was quiet which meant we found our favourite corner and tucked ourselves in with a few beers and packets of crisps.
Suddenly, the beginnings of a good night became uncomfortably complicated. Just as we were leaving to go next door for the gig, I heard someone shout my name. It was Ben from the B.I.P.,
“Hey, where are you guys off to? Why don’t you stay to have a few beers with us? I think we deserve them after all our hard work this morning don’t you Gwen?”
I blushed. Not just slightly – my face went crimson. I could feel that tell-tale tingling skin and knew this meant trouble. I couldn’t look anyone in the eye and shuffled from one foot to the other. I knew that I desperately wanted to stay and have fun with these exciting new people, He knew that I desperately wanted to stay with these people He didn’t know and so did both my friends. I cannot explain why I felt like that. I am fully aware that I shouldn’t have felt that way but my emotions, at that moment, were running wild. These emotions were also very obvious to those that know me. I could see the accusing look on His face framed by the raised eyebrows of my friends. I felt guilty and exposed but also resentful and restrained. What was going on?
I mumbled something about going to a gig and shuffled on past Ben with downcast eyes. God he must think I am a complete weirdo. I think I am a complete weirdo. Why do I care what he thinks?
In the queue for the Catatonia gig nothing much was said. This, of course, was worse for everyone concerned. Wouldn’t life be simpler if everyone just said what they were thinking?
He would say, “How dare you have a friend who is a man! And a good-looking man with a friendly, outgoing personality too. I am no match for him so therefore stay far away. You must be with Me and no one else ever.” Then He would do an evil Skeletor cackle.
Maisie would say, “What the hell just happened there Gwen? I may not be Cilla Black but I can tell you fancy him!” Followed by, “Oh great! Now we will all have to put up with His mood again all night.”
Rhys would say, “When are the doors opening as I am freezing my arse off?” This is, in fact, what he did say and his cold weather talk broke the ice, so to speak, for a while.
Inside the Terminal, the gig was shambolic to say the least. It is always slightly amusing yet, at the same time, disappointing when the band are pissed off their heads on stage like Guns n’ Roses circa ’89. If you are going to do Rock n’ Roll at least make sure you can play your songs. Feel free to drink as much as possible as long as it doesn’t spoil the crowd’s enjoyment. Don’t become like an extension of the underage crowd and tumble and mumble through your set. Cerys’s voice was like twenty Marlboro Reds before breakfast and the band were unruly but in a failing way, rather than an anarchic way. Out of time, out of tune and Maisie and Rhys were outta there. I don’t blame them, the band were chaotic, the crowd looked like a valley’s Youth Club on 20/20 and to top it all His mood was blackening by the hour.
I just couldn’t face a row tonight, so when he suggested we came home, I obediently obliged. The walk home was as cold as the atmosphere between us, our house seemed further from the Union than ever before. And now I am here, tucked up under my stars and moons duvet writing this. He, I presume, is in his room. I can hear the depression of Depeche Mode thumping up from downstairs. A strange thing has happened tonight, something that has not happened ever before in this struggle of a relationship.
I am going to lock my door though, just in case.