Marc Burrows is a bewildered boy in a girly girls world. In his latest adventures he talks clubbing, Benicassim and…meeting Bin Laden?
You can tell I’m getting old because I only have 2 settings in a nightclub; either frozen bafflement at music I don’t understand, or bouncing like a maniac shouting “TUNE! TUNE!”. There’s no middle ground- the difference seems to be whether the song came out before 2004 or not.
You see, and this is really hard to admit, I’m 31. I have been for a few months now. Fortunately I still look about 12 and still get ID’d buying 15 DVD’s in Sainsburys (most recently the musical ‘Cabaret’), but still… It’s not like I feel grown up – when my Dad was 31 he had 3 kids, a mortgage and a proper job. I’ve got 2 cats, a remote control Dalek and tell jokes, play bass guitar to people in silly hats and write nonsense about music. None of these are proper jobs. If they were, I’d abandon them straight away and find something even sillier to do. There are people holding dogs on string outside Argos with a more reliable income than me, and I kind of like that, thank you very much.
Anyway, 2 things have happened in the last month that made me feel my age for the first time. First of all I went out for an 18th Birthday party. I found myself on a night out in Soho with a large group of 18-21 year old girls, and it was nowhere near as much fun as it sounds. For a start, why do they cry so much? I’m sure I don’t remember that much crying. They all got tanked up on Vodka and Orange on the bus, strapping on shoes none of them could actually walk in, and by the time we got to the club 4 of them had been in a fight, all of them had cried and one had pee’d in a churchyard. I felt like ‘the grown up’. It was awful.
Secondly I was invited to do stand up at the Festival Internacional De Benicassim, (or just ‘Benicassim’) in Spain, alongside fellow comedians Luke Benson, Joey Page and Sion James. It’s sort of V2012-on-sea. Almost everyone is British and most people are under 25. Sometimes it’s worryingly like a festival version of the Inbetweeners movie (the “Indie-tweeners”?), stuffed full of kids cutting loose after their A-levels.
I found myself watching venerable indie godfathers the Stone Roses and feeling utterly out of place, when I noticed a weird thing happening – those sexy kids didn’t care that this band was as old as time. They got drunk, turned to each other, arms in the air, responded to the beat (The Roses being basically the Acid House Led Zeppelin) and danced their little hearts out. This time we all threw our hands in the air, I hugged a man dressed as Osama Bin Laden, bounced like a maniac and shouted “TUNE! TUNE!” and realised I’m just as clueless and immature as I’ve ever been.
Long may that continue.