Summer's what you make it

Today I am wearing woolly tights, the front windows show it is sunny, the back; the moody glare of rain-sodden sky. Yesterday, Glasgow’s Indian Summer filled me with winter. I am not much of a fan of the windswept music experience. My shoes are wrecked.
But there were warm moments.
Anthony and the Johnsons were a burst of the finest purple-skyed misery. Yo La Tengo annoyed people with their self-indulgent guitar-shaking but reduced us to helpless smiles, they dedicated a song to us knowing they’re our heroes. Broken Social Scene also demonstrated a coy liking for us and churned up their set with frequent bursts of the Lloyd riff. I missed a lot of the music in the afternoon shivering like a coward as the rain sprayed down the back of my neck in the catering tent while Yo La Tengo talked to us about pornography.

In previous weeks we have been to Sweden, Germany and Ireland, watched the Dresden Dolls eating soup, swooned as the Swedish kids made hearts at us, been willingly patronised by Dublin bar staff encouraging us to drink 3 pint monstrosities of Guinness, let Jack White try on my glasses. It’s been fun.

Tracy and I are eating fancy chocolates for breakfast because there isn’t anything else.

Carey x