Saturday, March 12, 2005

How To: Make Me Blush

How To: Make Me Blush

Today I spent my time using lots of red ink on the first draft of my extended essay.

A year ago today I spent my time in a nightclub in Birmingham getting marker pen on myself.

When Griffin was still under contract to UMTV and fresh from his involvement in reality television, he ended up doing quite a few PA's at nightclubs. It was, I think I can safely say now, one of the major areas where the record company really didn't get who he was or what he was about. And the majority of the nightclubs were exactly as you'd imagine them to be, most often filled with the type of audience who weren't about to welcome such a pop-upstart on a Friday or Saturday night out*. They were there for the BOGOF** offers, to wear skirts that were wider than they were long and generally to get off with each other. Griffin, and whether he was bringing it on or not, didn't come into the equation.

But he did these PA's, always singing live, usually thrusting his crotch about a bit, bantering where he could and generally coping admirably. Indeed he did more than cope, there were times when he rocked. Which is hard to do when you're singing to a backing track and on a stage which looks like it's been created on an episode of Blue Peter. And a particularly shoddy Blue Peter at that, when they've been running low on everything but toilet rolls and sticky backed plastic. And a year ago today Griffin did a PA at the now defunct Birmingham Zanzibars, which, as a venue, was as tacky as it sounds. But, as ever, Griffin was rather wonderful, and had particularly nice hair that night.

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Not that that photo really illustrates the good hair day, but it's worth not having the hair for the other benefits of the photo. And indeed the fact that it demonstrates a time when Griffin managed to take on Double-Denim and come out as victor. The demise of the UMTV-Griffin relationship may have yeilded a lot of good things, but improvement in clothing it definitely hasn't.

But if the nightclub gigs were shoddy venues, then they also yeilded, at least at that time, the huge signing queue. Britain may be a nation of people who queue, but nothing, and I mean nothing, comes close to a signing queue. By this stage, when I'd been on the Griffin wagon for four months, I was seasoned at them. And had even come up with coping strategy. This night the coping strategy was aided somewhat by the fact that I'd consumed: cava, wine, Baileys and aftershock. In rather worrying quantities. So we ended up in the queue singing 'This Old Heart of Mine' and, in the case of Nik and I, working through the 'to-do' list we'd created for the evening. By the time we got round to it being our turn to speak to Griffin, we'd gotten past the feeling-slightly-sick-stage and had moved on to the absolutely-no-fear-whatsoever-stage.

So I ended up with 'It's the pull of the Griffin' written across me. And if that weren't bad enough in the cold, hard light of day, I managed to correct Griffin's grammar whilst I was at it. It probably says something about me that I still care about apostrophes even when I've had enough alcohol to make me think that it's socially acceptable to have almost-Popstars write on me. After the writing, and the general quizzing on various matters which at the time seemed hilarious and now, well still seem quite amusing given that it's always handy to know that someone's afraid of rats, there had to be the comedy photo shoot which would provide the basis for every comedy photo shoot since:

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If you're wondering about the lei's, they were part of a rather elaborate joke that had started from a particularly hilarious - and quite clearly fake*** - answer Griffin had given to a slightly x-rated interview in Boyz magazine. If you're wondering why I'm as close to Griffin as I am, it's because I was sat on his knee at the time. And it was at this point that I think my brain should have told me to stop. To not sit on his knee. Mainly because even when I'm sober I've never been remarked upon for my grace and poise. When I've got enough alcohol in my blood stream to end up with marker pen on me then a neon flashing sign really should have appeared.

Predictably, I did struggle somewhat to get off of Griffin's knee. In what is perhaps my supreme moment of the year, I managed to stick my arse in his face as I was moving away from him. And not just a little bit. Oh no. So much so that he actually had to move his head away. And pull a somewhat bemused face. Obviously I can't comment on the face, I didn't see it, but it took everyone about ten seconds to tell me about it. So I'm thinking that it wasn't a good thing. And I can't blame him. Had I to chose which part of my body came into such close proximity to Griffin's face it certainly wouldn't have been my arse. And I can safely assume that he felt the same way.

I saw Griffin again three days later, amazingly without a paper bag on my head, and apologised for the arse incident. At first he was incredibly sweet, telling me not to be sorry. As soon as he'd said this, however, he clearly sensed that some points could be scored****, changed tack and announced "I'm traumatised - keep having flashbacks". The git.

*Such is the lot of the reality tv orignated popstar, 'credible' venues get sniffy and venues where I've seen toilets which are nicer looking get equally sniffy, though usually with the word w**ker involved somewhere along the line.

**For the uninitiated to this odd world, Buy One Get One Free.

***I don't think Griffin has ever truly confessed to making up the answers to that interview. But he's a boy. So of course he lied.

****And, given the Oxford thing, he likes scoring points off of me. Which is fair enough.

1 comment:

Nik said...

Oh how glad I am that picture is cropped. I think the writing up my arm is testament to how drunk I was... xXx