Tiara
Created | Updated Aug 19, 2004
I stepped out of her room and into the hallway. I turned round and locked the door behind me. I flung my bass over one shoulder and my bag over the other. I walked down the hallway, past the kitchen, piled ceiling-high with dirty plates and past the living room where my flatmates were watching Bargain Hunt. Typical f*****g students. Not that I wouldn’t have been sat there with them, singing the praises of David “The Duke” Dickinson and munching a bowl of cinnamon grahams, but today I had something far more worthwhile to do. I ran down the stairs to my van, put my bass and my bag in the back and drove off to pick up Kath, our drummer, from the other side of town.
Michael was already there, which I remember being grateful for, because it saved us a trip in the opposite direction before we headed off to the gig. I was already half an hour late. I thought I’d lost my box of plecs, spent forever looking for it til I realised I’d already put it in my bag. I had my radio turned up full. I knew those two’d make me rip this tape out the second they got into the car, they’re not exactly big King Adora fans, so I was making the most of it. Big Isn’t Beautiful started a couple of yards before Kath’s house, so I pulled up and just sat in the car and listened for a couple of minutes. If I hear the beginning of that song I can’t turn it off, I just love it far too much. I know damn well that King Adora are pure trash, but I don’t care. Before it has the chance to launch in to the next track on the tape, I stop it and jump out of the van. I check my makeup in the wing mirror – I don’t know why but I always want to look my best around Kath. Probably because she’s so pretty, I don’t like being shown up for what I am.
Kath’s house was one of those Victorian terraces that are about a quarter as wide as they are deep. To see it from the front you’d never think even one person would have enough room to move in there, but the three of them have plenty of room and their alcohol alone takes up the space on person normally would! She had a shed round the back too, where we kept our equipment.
They’d already lugged it through into the front. I felt kinda guilty, being so late. It wasn’t my fault; Tiara kept me up til four, I slept in. I always liked calling her Tiara. I don’t know why, even in the throes of passion, it was Tiara, not Cora. Tiara was cute and girly, hardly aware of herself. Her only fault was her lack of interest in the band. She knew it was important to me. She just wasn't a muso type.
But Mike and Kath weren’t bothered, really. They were looking pretty smug, I thought they were probably shagging. But I always thing that. I’m pretty sure that Tim and Charlotte out of Ash are shagging. And Jo out of Easyworld and Phil out of Little Nikita. I probably just project my own General Whoredom on other people.
Anyway, we were on the M1 before long, bombing down to London. I’d remembered the A to Z this time. The time before, when we had a support slot at the Garage in Highbury, I’d forgotten it, we ended up in Brixton or somewhere, ended up having to pay a cab to lead us half the way across London, lost what little bit of cash we earned that night on the bloody cab. So I sellotaped the A-Z to the dashboard.
Kath kept giving me odd looks. Like she was about to start saying something, but she stopped before she said it. As per usual, Mike was asleep in the back before we even hit the motorway. Not exactly rock and roll is it? I started really missing Joely. She always had something to say, something to keep us occupied on the long boring journeys down to London. Still, I couldn’t complain, it was my fault she left the band, it was my fault we were a three-piece and my fault Michael has taken to complaining that none of his songs sound right any more with just the one guitar. I’d soon sort that, though. As it was, they played the new Chilli Peppers’ song on the radio, so the inevitable things-that-were-good-but-are-now-shit game kicked in, which eventually gave way to shag/marry/kill. Kath never played right, though. Well, she did I guess, but her answers were always really dull. She always killed the oldest one, because, and I quote, “they’re closer to kicking the bucket anyway”. I never could figure that girl out.
We actually managed to find our way to the Garage without too much trouble. We got in about half two, unloaded and wandered over the road to Wetherspoons for two sausage-beans-and-mashes between the three of us. Wetherspoons portions are enormous. I only know one person who’s finished the lamb burger, and he only did it because he saw it as a threat to his masculinity or something. I never did understand why men are such twats. Do girls find football a threat to their femininity? I think not. Twats. Mike’s not bad though. Mike’s different. He’s 22 years old, practically a virgin, has a penchant for eyeliner and his favorite hobby is befriending people sat in corners of the venues we’re playing looking upset and then taking them backstage. Not for hot groupie action. Oh, no. That’s not Mike. He’ll give them a drink and challenge them to naughts and crosses on the walls.
We were there for what seemed like forever. We had to wait for the other two bands to soundcheck before we could, and they were taking forever about it. The headliners, Surfacing Piers, were absolutely f*****g notorious for being control freaks. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to meeting them. I shouldn’t have judged them so harshly, though. When we did go back over they were dead sweet about it, really apologetic and they stayed round and helped us with our equipment instead of going off and getting themselves some food. Mike was dead nervous so their singer, Andy, took him off to their dressing room and talked to him for ages about how undervalued a good frontman is and so on. That sort of thing’s never turned down by Mike – he’s a lovely bloke but he’s still a bloke, so a bit of ego-stroking never goes amiss.
The rest of them were great too. We sat in the bar til doors, chatting about absolute b******s, but it was fun. I guess I’m lucky I don’t get nervous, Mike went bright white for about half an hour before we went on stage.
We weren’t bad. Not great I suppose, not as good as we have been, but we were good. A couple of industry types came up to me after, but they didn’t seem interested in signing us as much as getting into discussions so they could shag me. What is it with those fat, balding bastards? Just because they have the power to give us a f*****g deal or not, they think they can shag whatever unsigned musician takes their eye. Twats. One went up to Mike though. Either he was gay or he was actually serious about signing us. Mike wouldn’t say. I veer towards the former option, myself.
Didn’t hang round in London long. We all had work in the morning, and neither of the other bands were that interested in going out. We were all home by two and in bed by half past. I desperately wanted to go round to Tiara’s, but I’d not had a reply to the text I sent her at 1, so I presumed she was asleep. You know what it’s like though, you get used to falling asleep next to someone, it’s hard when that someone’s not there. I generally end up just staring at the seiling…god, I’ve got that woman on my mind! I meant ceiling, obviously. I swear, I didn’t mean to write ‘seiling’! anyway, yeah, I didn’t sleep. It got to about 5am - I usually get up at seven to be at work for half eight – and then I just gave up, got up, jumped in the shower and spent an hour straightening my hair in front of the Hoobs. The Hoobs, incidentally, is currently the best programme on TV. It’s totally f*****g hilarious.
Work was dull as shit. I can’t help wishing I’d never left uni. That said, I would’ve got kicked out sooner or later anyway, and this way I do at least get a bit of cash, even if it does mean selling my soul to the devil aka Nike. I don’t know how the f**k I ended up working in JBSports. I am the least sporty person in the world. I watch F1, that’s as far as it goes. Oh, and I’ve got into hockey of late, but largely for the crowd and for the random violence. I know f**k all about football and they’ve got me selling f*****g football shirts.
Am I saying ‘f**k’ too much?
Cora 'Tiara' Seiling. It rolls off the tongue doesn't it? She came round. She really does light up the room. She caught me unawares. Just slipped in behind me, using her keys. Wrapped her arms around my waist. I saw her in the mirror, like my shaddow, smaller and darker, hanging behind me. She smiled. She passed me a sheet of paper. A review from the internet. Of my band.
She whispered in my ear 'I'm proud of you'. I put down my bass.
Michael was already there, which I remember being grateful for, because it saved us a trip in the opposite direction before we headed off to the gig. I was already half an hour late. I thought I’d lost my box of plecs, spent forever looking for it til I realised I’d already put it in my bag. I had my radio turned up full. I knew those two’d make me rip this tape out the second they got into the car, they’re not exactly big King Adora fans, so I was making the most of it. Big Isn’t Beautiful started a couple of yards before Kath’s house, so I pulled up and just sat in the car and listened for a couple of minutes. If I hear the beginning of that song I can’t turn it off, I just love it far too much. I know damn well that King Adora are pure trash, but I don’t care. Before it has the chance to launch in to the next track on the tape, I stop it and jump out of the van. I check my makeup in the wing mirror – I don’t know why but I always want to look my best around Kath. Probably because she’s so pretty, I don’t like being shown up for what I am.
Kath’s house was one of those Victorian terraces that are about a quarter as wide as they are deep. To see it from the front you’d never think even one person would have enough room to move in there, but the three of them have plenty of room and their alcohol alone takes up the space on person normally would! She had a shed round the back too, where we kept our equipment.
They’d already lugged it through into the front. I felt kinda guilty, being so late. It wasn’t my fault; Tiara kept me up til four, I slept in. I always liked calling her Tiara. I don’t know why, even in the throes of passion, it was Tiara, not Cora. Tiara was cute and girly, hardly aware of herself. Her only fault was her lack of interest in the band. She knew it was important to me. She just wasn't a muso type.
But Mike and Kath weren’t bothered, really. They were looking pretty smug, I thought they were probably shagging. But I always thing that. I’m pretty sure that Tim and Charlotte out of Ash are shagging. And Jo out of Easyworld and Phil out of Little Nikita. I probably just project my own General Whoredom on other people.
Anyway, we were on the M1 before long, bombing down to London. I’d remembered the A to Z this time. The time before, when we had a support slot at the Garage in Highbury, I’d forgotten it, we ended up in Brixton or somewhere, ended up having to pay a cab to lead us half the way across London, lost what little bit of cash we earned that night on the bloody cab. So I sellotaped the A-Z to the dashboard.
Kath kept giving me odd looks. Like she was about to start saying something, but she stopped before she said it. As per usual, Mike was asleep in the back before we even hit the motorway. Not exactly rock and roll is it? I started really missing Joely. She always had something to say, something to keep us occupied on the long boring journeys down to London. Still, I couldn’t complain, it was my fault she left the band, it was my fault we were a three-piece and my fault Michael has taken to complaining that none of his songs sound right any more with just the one guitar. I’d soon sort that, though. As it was, they played the new Chilli Peppers’ song on the radio, so the inevitable things-that-were-good-but-are-now-shit game kicked in, which eventually gave way to shag/marry/kill. Kath never played right, though. Well, she did I guess, but her answers were always really dull. She always killed the oldest one, because, and I quote, “they’re closer to kicking the bucket anyway”. I never could figure that girl out.
We actually managed to find our way to the Garage without too much trouble. We got in about half two, unloaded and wandered over the road to Wetherspoons for two sausage-beans-and-mashes between the three of us. Wetherspoons portions are enormous. I only know one person who’s finished the lamb burger, and he only did it because he saw it as a threat to his masculinity or something. I never did understand why men are such twats. Do girls find football a threat to their femininity? I think not. Twats. Mike’s not bad though. Mike’s different. He’s 22 years old, practically a virgin, has a penchant for eyeliner and his favorite hobby is befriending people sat in corners of the venues we’re playing looking upset and then taking them backstage. Not for hot groupie action. Oh, no. That’s not Mike. He’ll give them a drink and challenge them to naughts and crosses on the walls.
We were there for what seemed like forever. We had to wait for the other two bands to soundcheck before we could, and they were taking forever about it. The headliners, Surfacing Piers, were absolutely f*****g notorious for being control freaks. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to meeting them. I shouldn’t have judged them so harshly, though. When we did go back over they were dead sweet about it, really apologetic and they stayed round and helped us with our equipment instead of going off and getting themselves some food. Mike was dead nervous so their singer, Andy, took him off to their dressing room and talked to him for ages about how undervalued a good frontman is and so on. That sort of thing’s never turned down by Mike – he’s a lovely bloke but he’s still a bloke, so a bit of ego-stroking never goes amiss.
The rest of them were great too. We sat in the bar til doors, chatting about absolute b******s, but it was fun. I guess I’m lucky I don’t get nervous, Mike went bright white for about half an hour before we went on stage.
We weren’t bad. Not great I suppose, not as good as we have been, but we were good. A couple of industry types came up to me after, but they didn’t seem interested in signing us as much as getting into discussions so they could shag me. What is it with those fat, balding bastards? Just because they have the power to give us a f*****g deal or not, they think they can shag whatever unsigned musician takes their eye. Twats. One went up to Mike though. Either he was gay or he was actually serious about signing us. Mike wouldn’t say. I veer towards the former option, myself.
Didn’t hang round in London long. We all had work in the morning, and neither of the other bands were that interested in going out. We were all home by two and in bed by half past. I desperately wanted to go round to Tiara’s, but I’d not had a reply to the text I sent her at 1, so I presumed she was asleep. You know what it’s like though, you get used to falling asleep next to someone, it’s hard when that someone’s not there. I generally end up just staring at the seiling…god, I’ve got that woman on my mind! I meant ceiling, obviously. I swear, I didn’t mean to write ‘seiling’! anyway, yeah, I didn’t sleep. It got to about 5am - I usually get up at seven to be at work for half eight – and then I just gave up, got up, jumped in the shower and spent an hour straightening my hair in front of the Hoobs. The Hoobs, incidentally, is currently the best programme on TV. It’s totally f*****g hilarious.
Work was dull as shit. I can’t help wishing I’d never left uni. That said, I would’ve got kicked out sooner or later anyway, and this way I do at least get a bit of cash, even if it does mean selling my soul to the devil aka Nike. I don’t know how the f**k I ended up working in JBSports. I am the least sporty person in the world. I watch F1, that’s as far as it goes. Oh, and I’ve got into hockey of late, but largely for the crowd and for the random violence. I know f**k all about football and they’ve got me selling f*****g football shirts.
Am I saying ‘f**k’ too much?
Cora 'Tiara' Seiling. It rolls off the tongue doesn't it? She came round. She really does light up the room. She caught me unawares. Just slipped in behind me, using her keys. Wrapped her arms around my waist. I saw her in the mirror, like my shaddow, smaller and darker, hanging behind me. She smiled. She passed me a sheet of paper. A review from the internet. Of my band.
She whispered in my ear 'I'm proud of you'. I put down my bass.
