Entertainment Ireland

11 November 2009 (Profile)

Over the past few months, this young French guy called Olivier Timmh has being pestering us no end. Seems like he thinks he's a writer and, purely to get him off our case, we've decided to publish a few of his pompous Gallic scribblings. His story is a familiar one. Young Frenchman on the run from his family, on the dole here. He's desperate for the 'amour' and to this end he's written about his valiant efforts with the local talent. If he were as smart as he is cheap he'd have a job by now, or a girlfriend. However, he has a certain charm, it must be said. We'll publish an episode every week. Let us know what you think.

 

"Hi everyone, I’m Dave Preston. Thanks for showing up."
A couple of people chuckle around the stage. It’s Tuesday evening and we’re all still thinking of work, I am not but then again I’m not in a chuckling mood. He shuffles around with his guitar for a minute then sits on the stool and pulls on his trilby; it’s got rags and hiding other rags. He looks twenty, he looks nervous; he also looks like he needs a shower and a shave.
"The next song is called thinking machine."
He kicks off and the song and the crowd follows, in beat with him swaying his cowboy boots. He’s good; he’s even managed to pull a few people from the bar. One in particular I can’t help but notice; a sweet little thing with bright blue eyes and Chinese ink hair, a few bolts around the lips and a big hole in her ear. She probably uses it as a coat hanger or somewhere to put her pencils maybe, I don’t know. This isn’t music to jump around to, and she doesn’t look like the type to do the hustle either, but I still slide up to her, awkwardly confident. I’m standing behind her and suddenly, I forget the fail proof master plan I usually forget around these moments; there’s something so intimidating about the rocker girl type, it’s probably because I know that no matter how arrogant I am, there’s no getting around the fact that she’s way cooler than me.
For now anyway, once I get to know a bit more about them, they’re usually just plain Janes
with daddy issues. 

However, she takes the bait and when the music dies down, we both go outside for a cigarette where, it seems, the rest of the pub has gone to. We’re talking outside and she is really cool, she doesn’t even smoke that much and she has an accent I can understand. Turns out there’s a lot of metal bands out there that I heard of, it amazes her. Maybe it’s because I don’t have a toolbox plastered on my face, or leather pants, or long black hair, or an aversion to people screaming in my ear.
"Have you heard about this UK band, they’re pretty new and pretty heavy as well. Me likey." You who?
"Me likey?"
"No, that’s me. The name’s the pariah’s last dance."
"Hmm, no. I have not heard about zhem.” I would definitely need to do something about that accent.
"Mwell, they’re pretty good. They’ve a song out called: My life sucks, I just want to f***ing kill myself."
"Good message."
"Yeah it’s deep. I have to go, I’ll be back in a minute." Mais je t’en prie.
I light up and look around the outside/inside beer garden, there’s a lot of good looking girls here and a not a lot of competition. Unless all the guys here are having a ponytail race. Tant mieux. There’s a few students as well and a couple of girls that have dressed up for Halloween accidentally. And there’s the man on stage himself, I’d like to say he looks a lot taller, but he doesn’t. I’ll go talk to him.
"You were very good guy. I really liked your songs."
"Thanks mate, stating the obvious though, are you French?"
"Well yes, I-"
"So you surrendered to my songs, did you? Were they that good?" He laughs. He’s Hilarious.
"They were good yes." You Pete Doherty wannabe.
"Is your name Pierre by any chance?
"No, I’m Olivier."
"Olivia? I don’t know about you Frenchie, but that’s a bird’s name here."
"No it’s Olivi- yeah. Oli-"
"I knew a Pierre, smelly bastard, kept moaning all the time. He would eat anything though, and never said thank you or please, sure I wouldn’t give him anything. Miserable git." Time to wrap this up, before he asks me about baguettes or frogs legs.
"Okay, nice talking to you guy."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Go listen to the killers or something.” He turns back to his group of friends, the smelly bunch.
What a charming individual, I’m between two minds to sock him one but he looks like the type to fight dirty. And I’ve got more important things at hand to take care of, who has just arrived back and I am truly grateful she missed this little episode.
Turns out she works in starbucks part time and is passing an anthropology degree as well. That makes her…a little bit young but I don’t mind; Youth is the best companion. She goes through a few latin republics and gets me interested in lost civilizations when, next thing we know; It’s last orders and time for the last bus. We’re walking out and she keeps talking, she’s cute and kind of short, but it’s okay. We’re talking on our way there and it turns out she’s going to see the Eagles of Death Metal in two days, how convenient; so am I. We arrange to meet up there, coincidence? I think not. There’s someone up there and he likes me. It also solves the “How long before I text her?” question. We kiss, her bolts slide on my lips and on my tongue, I didn’t know she had one in there; I guess that’s what heavy metal tastes like. Promising. 

 

I didn’t hear the name of the opening band but I don’t really care either way, most of the people listening to them are probably friends and family anyway. I’m smoking outside and looking at the people in the queue; There’s every sort of fans out there; guys with skintight jeans and handlebars, thirty year olds with mullets and sleeveless denims, librarians with nirvana Tee-shirts, the cute little indie chicks. The bouncers pat this guy in skinnies down and throw his nagin away; I have no idea where he was hiding it as it seems he’s barely got room for blood flow. I’m thinking I better go in and drown in the masses before people notice, and I’m labeled “the guy on his own at a concert”. I’m at the bar when she joins me, with two of her friends; they pretty much look the same except that one has a bull ring, and the other one has half her head shaved. They don’t smile, I found out that they don’t eat meat either or buy coca cola products; great conversation starters. Au secours. I’m talking to my little stud puppet at the bar, keeping an eye on the stage where they’re setting up, or moving things around, I don’t know. Her friends borrow her from me to go the toilets, like all girls do, always, ever. They leave and the stage lights up, "ladies night" is playing and Jesse Hughes makes his way on stage, hips thrusting with nonchalance. The band follows, quite discreetly as if they were all drummers.
"A lot of lovely ladies out here tonight. Can you dig it?" The whole crowd says yes, I’m thinking of asking if there will be shovels involved.
"We’ve been touring a while, man. But honestly, there’s no place like Dublin. Are you guys ready for some rock and roll? You ready to get drunk?"

The crowd cheers, of course and they kick off. I make it as close as I can to the stage and bump into the three stooges, their pupils look really big and they seem very happy.
"Oh my gawd!" Says the bull and proceeds to start jumping in place with her badly barbered mate. Everybody’s jumping around, this is great; it feels like there’s 20 000 people there, although we’re probably just 500. "I only want you" plays and I look around, I don’t exactly share the opinion; there’s about ten girls I can see right now that I want. However I don’t think this is the best place to try and chat someone up, not when all the ladies are gawking at the lead singer’s upper lip fur. "The boy’s bad news" rolls on and he’s right this time, I head off to the bar to get a pint of coke and get served by yet another gem. She’s short, I have to lean over the counter and talk into her ear; I like that. I try to look manly when I am asking her for ice, she smiles and hands me back my change; I leave two euro. I head back out and hear the chorus "I gotta feeling she’s just nineteen." I got that feeling too, and when I meet up with her she’s biting her lips a lot and drinks my whole pint in one go, Santé. She’s very sweaty right now, and very happy and cuddly too, still quite sticky though. The concert ends after a five song encore; nobody wants them to leave. Sexy boots throws his tee shirt at the crowd and the three stooges scrum through the masses to get to it. That’s the last I saw of them. I walked home that night to sober off and gave my number to a girl that looks like a waitress. I would’ve told her but I’m not sure she would’ve grasped the compliment. Gill, if you’re reading this; I’m okay but I think you’re friends are lesbians.

*************

For Part One, please click here

 

 

 

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