Haiti Earthquake Fundraiser

Even though I have been eagerly anticipating the event I had no preconceived impression of what it was going to be like. Hearing that it started at six sounded bonkers, but I wanted to be there early to help out (little did I know I would turn into a waitress within the first five minutes of getting there). So, with minutes to get ready and no idea what to wear, I put on my gold glitter eye-shadow and jeans and headed for Chalk Farm.
It became apparent that I was going to a lone ranger for the night so I stuck like glue to the organisers I am friends with and busied myself with menial tasks. After fetching Mr Hudson tea and nearly spilling a drink on Paul Weller I decided to do what I’ve always wanted to do with a press pass- stand right in front of the stage with my camera. I think my little Sony SLR has a serious inferiority complex now. I was looked at in a ‘what ARE you doing here?’ kind of way, but I soon learnt to deal with that.
Bombay Bicycle Club were the first band I saw from this position and I felt they were teenagers that had been dressed by their mothers and then taken drugs for the first time, probably to celebrate having won an award the night before. As Twin B commented ‘Bombay Bicycle Club won a prize for best curry house in Kilburn’. Jokes aside- I felt that as a drip of sweat went running down his face and fat girls in the front row were screaming sex fetishes at him, he was almost enjoying himself.
The next band was one I actually came to see, Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly. Is it just me or have they played at every small festival in the past few years? Regardless, I think Sam is the happiest, cutest man I’ve seen on stage. I like their music because it’s thought provoking, yet feel-good, maybe it’s the brass band and violins. Or just his face.
I left the pit because Weller was on stage. JOKING. He wasn’t on until a lot later. I’m not sure what I did at this point, probably tried to contact George Lamb, who was HOURS late even though he only lives up the road, and had it thrown back in my face with crass sarcasm. I was back in the pit for Mr Hudson, who was feeling better and his stripped down acoustic performance was beautiful.
‘FOREVER YOUNG’
He played a love song, winked at me then said ‘big cheer for everyone that helped organise this night.’ Chuffed.
Chilled in the VIP bar for a sufficient enough of time to get drunk and drop my camera and lose my FUCKING LENSE CAP. Nightmare.
‘The crowd are acting like they have a stick up their asses’- Kristina
RAN back down to the front row for The Magic Numbers’ performance. Not before Marcus Brigstocke had a beat box competition with a random goon and Robin tapped me on the shoulder for the sake of civility. I should have wacked him in the face with my camera, but alas I’m too nice a person.
Fell in love with The Magic Numbers, or rather they fell in love with me;
‘She don’t love me like you.’
I was reduced to tears by their epicene voices and by everything running though my head at that moment. I am reluctant to add that this was the end of my time in the press line.
I missed I Blame Coco’s set, ‘what a crying shame.’ not
By this stage I was a bubble of emotion; sweating and stressed. I left to go home and shower.
Was told that I ‘missed out’ on a bus full of musicians singing football chants on the way to the after party at Movida. Actual nightmare.
So far £85,000 has been raised for Haiti charities. Overall an amazing night.