All Carlos, all the time

dachelle — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 06:31:13 GMT

Libertines write-up time, because I woke up after a Nyquil-induced nap and watched the BBC footage from Reading and teared up all the way through it, and now I must talk about them.

I will write up the rest of the festival experience with the Oxford trip later, though I must mention that no one told me before that to get to the festival site from the parking area, you got to take A BOAT. That's right, A BOAT. Not only was it A BOAT, but when we started moving the speakers blasted out "I'm On A Boat." So, already, it was pretty much the best festival ever.

Anyway, Libertines! Bethan and I had been further into the crowd for Dizzee Rascal's set, and while it was fun, I couldn't really see anything there, so I decided to hang back a bit for the Libs' set so I could see some of the stage and the screens. For quite some time, there was a strange hole around us, but as it got closer for time for the boys to go on the hole filled in. I have a bad habit of stressing out before gigs thinking about all the things that could possibly go wrong and ruin my experience, but I was determined to just relax and enjoy this moment, and I was remarkably calm until the screens started showing clips of the boys to "We'll Meet Again," and then my hands went over my mouth and I teared up a bit. I can't even describe what it was like when they actually came on, just that the cheer was amazing. It was like the Albert Hall show when everyone sang along to "Fuck Forever," and I couldn't believe that I was in the middle of people who actually knew the song, people to whom it meant something. I am so used to having to explain the Libertines to people and not having them quite get it, and to be inside a crowd with that much love for the band that has meant so much to my life...it was incredible.

And then they started playing, and it was fantastic. I'd heard live recordings, of course, but nothing really compares to actually hearing them play together live. It was just amazing, and they sounded SO GOOD. Like, really, legitimately good, and I still feel that way after watching the BBC footage. I had an enormous sense of pride as I watched them, and the feeling that this was right, this was how it should be. They looked so happy up there, and the crowd was so supportive. Any time Peter and Carl interacted, there were cheers and "awww!"s and by the end my face hurt from smiling. I managed not to cry much until "Music When the Lights Go Out," at which point I just lost it completely and sobbed all the way through.

There were of course a couple of odd incidents. First the flare in the crowd, which at first I thought was a fire, but then Peter kept singing and I thought surely if there was an out-of-control fire in the middle of the festival he'd stop, so I didn't worry too much. And then the sound getting pulled during "Time for Heroes." I don't think most of us knew until later that it was because of a crush at the front - I thought something had just gone wrong with the speakers. I felt awful for the boys because it had been going so well up until that point, and I'm sure they were confused by the boos, because I don't think they knew the sound was out at first. But then they came right back in at Carl's solo - which reminded me of Shambles picking up after the fire alarm in Cardiff, I suppose that was practice for Peter - and I think they were even better after that. And then there was the bit of "Radio America" before "Up the Bracket" that made me deliriously happy even if it was only 30 seconds, and the cuddling. OMG, the cuddling. It was wonderful to see, and I don't even mean that necessarily in a Peter/Carl shippy slashy way, but to see them be genuinely happy together and knowing how special that friendship is and all that they'd been through to get to that point, it was really heartwarming.

After the set ended and the boys hugged and went offstage, I immediately turned back to Ruth and said, "I need to hug someone now!" and then we all had group hugging and crying, and then we met back up with Bethan and Alice and there was more hugging and crying. I am so glad that I went, and that I was able to share the experience with people who are really special to me, and who I would not have met without The Libertines. And most of all, I was glad for the boys. I'd read so many articles and blogs beforehand claiming that their time is over, and that no one really cares about the Libertines, but that crowd singing back to them and cheering and crying and sharing every emotion shows that people do care, that they are important, that they're more than a tabloid staple and a load of hype from the NME - they're a band that means a lot to a lot of people, and I know I'm partial but I think it was a really special moment, and I feel like I was privileged to be a part of it.

dachelle — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 23:16:24 GMT

Hello!

I am at a hostel in Liverpool right now. I can't believe I've only been here for three days. So, the first night (day?) I was here I ended up staying in London with Alice, mys, Ruth and Alison and going to Hoxton's twattiest venue for this club night Carl was putting on, where I may have had far too much wine and DPT PERFORMED. I am told they were actually quite rubbish but after several glasses of wine I thought they were BRILLIANT and there was lots of general dancing and jumping around and hugging of Ruth and mys.

So then yesterday after not nearly enough sleep we went to Cardiff to see Shambles. As we were passing the venue Ruth goes, offhandedly, "Oh, there's Peter with some fanboys." And then Alice, probably not in any seriousness, said, "Should we turn around then?" and in a very small voice I went, "Yes, please?" so she did, and I leapt out of the car and ran very probably right across traffic to see Peter, who was on his way into a taxi, and I think I said "Hello" and maybe something else, and he shook my hand and apologized that they had to get a taxi to the train station, and then he tipped his hat to me before getting into the boot of the taxi backwards. As you do. If you're Peter. So I bounced back across the busy street, going "ImetPeterImetPeterImetPeter" even if it was for only five seconds but importantly I did not pass out or die or vomit or get hit by a passing car.

Then the gig happened. I managed to make my way up to the barrier, and it was really amazing. I'd never seen Peter with a band before, and the energy is so different than his solo shows but it was so good and it was going great until the fire alarm went off and they had to evacuate the venue in the middle of "Baddies Boogie." But it was all right, though, because once they let us back in we all got on the barrier in front of Drew, and then Shambles came back and picked up "Baddies Boogie" right where they left off, and Peter sounded great and kept trying to stand on an amp that he very obviously could not balance on and got into a brilliant tug of war with a girl who crowdsurfed to the stage and tried to steal his scarf, which he was not having. Peter won, by the way. They did some of the new songs - "Fireman" and "Stranger in My Own Skin" and another one I can't remember. And during "Albion" Peter started trying to tell some story during the names of towns bit, and someone shouted out "Cardiff!" and he said, "I was going to say that one," and there was also a brilliant Peter pout at one point, and of course they ended with "Fuck Forever" which was amazing with a band, and it was all bouncy and wonderful and I didn't even mind that the merchandise was still crap. How many of those Shotter's Nation 2007 tour programs did they make up, anyway?

After the show we hung around for a bit because Kieran was coming out to say hello, and he offered to go back in and get us some beers. This was very important to the story because it delayed us leaving, and meant that I could see a small crowd gathered at the other end of the street. Curious, I went to investigate, and OH MY GOD it was Peter, and I sort of went all funny and cannot really remember that much but it involved following Peter around the back of the tour bus, and the whole time I was so nervous that I wouldn't get to speak to him because he is like 800 feet tall or something - I may be exaggerating slightly, but still, it was like looking up at a TREE - and I'm only little and I was like HE CANNOT SEE ME AND HE WILL LEAVE AND I WILL DIE. Again, possibly exaggerating, but still. Anyway, he was slowly making his way towards the door of the bus chatting to fanboys about something or other and being forced to kiss people's girlfriends, and finally I got up the nerve to just sort of put my hand on his arm and say "Peter?" in what was surely a very small and pathetic voice, and he looked at me, and I started saying "I came from America to see you..." and he went "Really?" and I said yes, and then this is the part where I very probably started crying a bit although I can't quite remember, and then I continued, "...yes, and I just wanted to say thank you, for the music and, um, everything, because you mean so much to me," and he said, "Aw, thank you," and then he gave me a hug, but not just a little side hug but like a proper, both arms around me, pulling me into his chest sort of hug, and it was the absolute best moment ever, and I was sort of dazed and happy and then he waved goodbye to everyone and went in the tour bus, and I didn't get to get a picture but it was all right because my camera stopped working anyway, and I am very sorry I did not get to call Jeni as I'd wanted but he was leaving and I am honestly not sure I had the mental capacity to work a phone anyway. And then I walked rather shakily back to the car, and Alice asked me what I said to him, and I said it was exactly what I wanted to say. I know it sounds horribly lame but I had actually thought about what I would say to Peter if I was ever lucky enough to meet him, and it turned out that all I really wanted to say was thank you, both to him and to Carl, because without them - and I'm sorry, I'm starting to cry again, which I've done rather a lot but it's happy and I mostly didn't cry on Peter, only a little bit - I wouldn't have had these experiences. I've done things I would never have imagined myself doing. I have amazing friends I would never have met. I've had something that's kept me going when things have been very dark. I'd always said if I ever met Peter I'd hug him and slap him and then hug him again, because he does infuriate me sometimes, but I'm all right with just the hug.

And then sometime after that my whole nervous system sort of collapsed and I got a headache and felt incredibly nauseous and I had to get some medicine from Alice - see what a bad influence Peter is, a half hour after meeting him I was already looking for drugs - and we went back to Bethan's and had tea and watched mys unsuccessfully attempt to tempt Bethan's rabbits out to play with her, and then today Bethan and I came up to Liverpool and had dinner at Nando's with her friend Louise, who is very nice, and then I came back to the hostel and watched the X Factor results show and managed to cast a vote for Olly even though he didn't win (sadface), and overall it's just been lovely and amazing and it's only three days in and did I mention I met Peter? Because I did. And he was wonderful and I'm pretty sure he had bathed and he gives very nice hugs, in case you were wondering.

And I am completely happy.

dachelle — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 18:48:19 GMT

So, someone on LJ (who I won't name, as she's since deleted the post, but I think it was a good idea) was going to ask people to comment anonymously with why they love Peter/Carl/The Libertines. I was originally going to just send this in an e-mail to her, but then I thought I'd post it, because I know I've talked about the Libs a lot, obviously, but maybe never really about what draws me to them. Reading over this, it seems insufficient, but I think it goes a little way towards explaining. Anyway, if you want to read it's under the cut.

1. Peter - The first picture I saw of Peter and Carl was the second album cover, but the first picture I saw of Peter was in Entertainment Weekly magazine. It was a review of Hedi Slimane's book, and there was a picture of Peter with it, the one where he's wearing a hat and smoking a cigarette with his eyes closed and a bandage on his face. And even though I only had a vague idea of who Peter was at the time, I saved that magazine because there was something about the picture that intrigued me. I kept returning to it, again and again, and eventually I decided that Peter was someone I wanted to know more about.

It's hard to say exactly what I love about Peter because there are so many reasons I shouldn't love him. He can be so incredibly frustrating and infuriating, and there are many times when I would like to shake him and ask him what the fuck he thinks he's doing. But, at the same time, there's something in him that makes me invested enough in him to want to do that, to want better for him, if you get what I'm saying. When I think of Peter, the word that immediately comes to mind is "charming." I definitely fell for him watching and reading old interviews, and seeing him in person only solidified that. You can tell, no matter what the tabloids would have you believe, that the gears are always turning in his mind. When he's on and himself, he's bright and animated and witty, and I suppose that's why I'm so disappointed in him sometimes, because I wonder why he feels the need to take substances that mask that, that take away the expressiveness of that charming boy.

I've talked about this a bit when I've talked about my fic to others, and the fact that I do have a definite version of Peter that I tend to write, but I very much identify with the younger Peter, the Peter who lived in his head and was bookish and a bit pretentious and liable to get obsessive over any number of odd things, and I think that's why, even though our lives are very different and I don't have personal experience with a lot of the things he writes about in his songs, I can still find a connection with his lyrics. Because he's still that idealist, that dreamer, that reader, and that comes through in his songs. I love how personal his songs feel. Even though he's not a great singer, I adore his voice, and how intimate it can seem when it's just him and the guitar. I've spent a lot of quiet hours in darkened rooms just listening to those acoustic sessions. There's such beauty and heartache and truth in what he writes (and that's true of Carl as well). I don't think I'll ever get tired of listening to him. I guess that's ultimately what draws me to Peter, and what keeps me being a fan and defending him even when he does things that I don't like/don't approve of.

2. Carl - Random note: I spent several months thinking Carl was French. Like, actually French, not just in the fandom "filthy French whore" way. It was a combination of the stripey shirts and the accent mark, what can I say.

Anyway, obviously Carl is an incredibly good-looking man, and I think that is a part of what draws many fans to him initially. But as I learned more about the Libs and listened to the songs and his playing, I realized what an amazing person he is. He is so talented, and he has a definite style to his guitar playing. Lyrically, I may connect a bit more with Peter's songs overall, but Carl has written some truly wonderful stuff. "Truth Begins" can stand up with anything the Libs did, I think. And of course, on a personal level, reading about what happened with the end of the Libs and all he went through made my heart break a little, and made me develop respect for him. Of course there are two sides to every story, and I'm under no illusions that Carl is an angel, but I do think he handled himself and the situation very well.

I became a fan of Carl's forever after meeting him in Chicago in 2006. It was the first time I'd ever traveled to see a band, and he was so lovely and gracious and funny and sweet and just *genuine* in his interactions with us and all the other fans. I was really impressed by him. I think he's honestly a good person - a complicated person, but a good person. I think I've told a few people this story. It's one of the lamer moments in my life, but I was driving home once and saw a shooting star, and I was listening to the Libs, and so I made a wish that Peter would get clean, and that Carl would be happy. Because I think they both deserve that, to live happy, healthy lives - not necessarily together, you know, although that would make my slasher heart fill with glee, but whatever that means for them.

Sometimes I wish I could go back in time to when I was living in London in '98 and find a way to meet Peter and Carl then, because I think I would enjoy knowing them as people, not just as a fan. I am amazed that they're the same age as me, because sometimes they seem so much younger, and sometimes so much older, because of all that's happened in their lives. I respect them for having the courage to follow their dreams. I mean, they dropped out of school to start this band, lived in shitty flats and did shitty jobs, all in pursuit of this ideal that they really believed in, and they were only teenagers at the time. I think back to where and who I was then, and I couldn't have done what they did.

Which I suppose brings me to 3. - The Libs, and I feel a little bad because I've not mentioned John or Gary at all, who are both lovely, lovely people, and who I think brought a great deal to the band musically, particularly Gary. I don't think the Libs would sound anything like they did without his style of drumming. But a lot of the attraction of the Libs is Peter and Carl, and their story. At least, I think a lot of the passion for the band is. I mean, I love the music of The Wombats, but dear boys though they seem to be, I don't feel emotionally invested in them the way I do in the Libs. It all comes down to "blood from broken hearts," doesn't it? Like I said earlier in reference to Peter, but it applies to Carl as well, there is so much honesty in their lyrics. You can tell they didn't write to be fashionable or to sell records, but they wrote about what they loved, what mattered to them, what was going on in their lives, warts and all. They had a vision, and that comes through. I love how literate their music is. I love that I can always find something new when I listen to them, some line that suddenly strikes me, that takes on a new meaning in light of something I've read or an echo I've found in another song. I love that you do have to listen to their songs. Really, there aren't a lot of big, anthemic choruses with the Libs, but a lot of intricate verses, and I love that. I love how passionate their fans are about them, and how intelligent and literate the fans I've met are, at least on LJ (not talking about the people who go to see Peter because he's in the Sun who are there for the trainwreck aspect, but the people who are truly interested in the music).

And I love their friendship, in all its dysfunctional glory. The slash thing aside, no matter what went on or didn't between them, there is still an undeniable connection there, something special that transcends most friendships. It is a love story, really - and at times a soap opera. And I think that's why we do get so emotionally involved, because ultimately what we have are two people who just seem to belong together, and it's natural to root for them to put their differences aside and to be together again.

And finally, I love them because no matter how depressed I am, watching the first minute and a half of this will always make me smile:

ETA: If you'd like to leave your own comment about why you love/are drawn to Peter, Carl and the Libs, please do! I think anon commenting is on if you want to use that.

dachelle — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 18:51:42 GMT

I can't show you my house yet, but I can show you a few things I bought to go in my house.

I've decided to go with a bit of an "old Hollywood" feel in my bedroom, and to this end I've purchased the following photos:

This is a picture of Irene Castle, a famous ballroom dancer from the early 1900s. I saw a picture of her in the National Portrait Gallery at the NALP reception last week that I fell in love with, and although I couldn't find that particular photo, I saw this one and knew I needed to have it. I love the action of the shot.

These are small vintage photos of three silent movie actresses: Marian Nixon, Margaret Gibson, and Maude Fealy. I didn't know of any of the actresses before buying the pictures - they were suggested in related results when I was looking for pictures of Irene Castle on eBay, and they all had faces that interested me in some way. If you read any bio, read Margaret Gibson's - I can't believe her story hasn't been made into a movie yet. I'm going to frame these and put them on my dresser.

The bellydancer should be self-explanatory, right?

Another silent film actress, Blanche Sweet. This one will likely go in my living room. I loved the Art Deco feel of it.

I also plan on getting a couple of vintage British Rail and/or London Underground posters. I want this one of Blackpool for my bathroom. I'm hoping someone gets it for me as a housewarming present. *fingers crossed*

If you're wondering, what about Peter and Carl? - don't worry :-) I of course have framed photos of me and Carlos to go on my shelves, and I've framed my Peter tickets to go in the guest bedroom. My Libs second album poster might go in there as well. I have to look at the wall space.

dachelle — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 19:56:06 GMT

Yay! After months of sitting on my floor, my poster of Peter is finally up in my office. Huzzah!

I also set up all my utilities today! Double huzzah!

I keep trying to write up the U.K. trip, but I don't know quite how to begin, and the shows are all sort of running together into one giant Peter spectacular. I suppose I could just go chronologically, so here goes...

Day 1 (aka Thursday)

I took an overnight flight to London on Wednesday, where I sat next to Jorge, the man I grew to hate more than anyone in the world. He was awful, demanding, bitchy and petulant, and woke me up in the middle of the night by screaming "NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" at his DVD of 24. He didn't even apologize for scaring the crap out of me. I hated that man. Anyway.

I landed at Heathrow Thursday morning. Usually, I'm only asked why I'm visiting the U.K., I answer "I'm here on vacation," and they let me go through. Maybe I looked particularly shifty due to my lack of sleep, but that answer was not sufficient. No, the lady wanted to know what I was doing while on holiday. This was our conversation.

Me: I'm going to see some concerts.
Her: Which concerts are you going to see?
Me: Erm...*shuffling around uncomfortably* Pete Doherty?
Her: *raised eyebrow* Where are you staying?
Me: Um, a few places. Mostly with my friend Bethan in Cardiff.
Her: And is Bethan a Pete Doherty fan too?
Me: *voice getting progressively smaller* Um, yes?
Her: Could you spell her name for me?
Me: B-E-T-H-A-N...
Her: *also asks for Bethan's address and phone number*
Me: *gives her Bethan's contact info, feeling a bit like an informer before the McCarthy commission*
Her: And how did you meet Bethan?
Me: *thinking thepornthepornohgoddon'tmentiontheporn* Erm, the Internet?
Her: *raised eyebrow*

Despite this, I was let into the country after all. I went to Paddington to meet up with bluesenough, who had her own tale of immigration woe. We headed to a local pub to eat lunch before deciding that neither of us were really hungry, and splitting an order of chips that mostly sat uneaten at the table, much to the consternation of an elderly gentleman who came by our table three times to stare forlornly at the picked-at chips and shake his head. After commiserating over travel difficulties and laughing about Libs-related things together, it was time for me to head back to Paddington for my train to Cardiff to meet up with known Pete Doherty fan madam_ray, with whom I was staying the weekend.

The train to Cardiff was fairly uneventful, and honestly I slept and/or read for most of it. Bethan picked me up and took me back to hers. I believe we also ate something that night as well, but I was rapidly falling asleep, and soon was snuggled in bed underneath the watchful gaze of Peter and Carl (well, mostly Carl. Peter didn't look particularly interested) to sleep off my jet lag and rest up for Friday night's show.

Day 2 and 3 to follow, with bonus Liber-bears!

In the meantime, have some Gin Riots, because I will not rest until I have pimped these boys out for all they're worth.

Also, somewhat randomly, is there anywhere online that Peter has written out the lyrics to "Fuck Forever"? I'm probably being silly and they're in the Down in Albion booklet, but I actually downloaded that from iTunes lo these several years ago, so I don't have the artwork proper. Anyway, I am mostly decided that whenever I get up the nerve to do a tattoo again, I want the artwork from the "Last of the English Roses" single with the lyrics "Happy endings still don't bore me" in Peter's handwriting. I'm hoping the heart can cover the crap butterfly I have. What can I say, I was 21 and stupid.

dachelle — Sat, 18 Oct 2008 02:54:36 GMT

I just checked my MySpace - I'd sent Gary a message when I got back, and he sent me this:

courtney!!!!! it's great to hear from you!!!!! it was a pleasure to meet you - especially after you made such an effort to come out and hang with us guys. i personally think that isd us that needs to thank you guys - especially the likes of you, taking extra-ordinary measures just to be there.

so, on behalf of 'the boys in the band,' i thank you and send lots of love and admiration, and this is not just for travelling thousands upon thousands of miles, but mainly for being a damned nice person.

so, all the best i wish for you and yours, stay in contact and we will keep you updated as to what is happening in the wierd and wacky world we all live in.

take care sweety.

catch you later!!!!!

xxx

Aw! Now I'm crying. Again.

dachelle — Sat, 18 Oct 2008 02:46:50 GMT

Day 4 - Norwich.

Day 4 began with me and Katt catching the train from Cambridge to Norwich and finding our B&B in Norwich, which was located conveniently close to the train station. Because we had some time to kill before we needed to be at the venue, I convinced Katt to walk up to Norwich Cathedral. cucumbersarnies had taken me around the outside of the cathedral when I visited her in July, but we were too late then to go inside. Katt and I took a lovely little walk up to the cathedral by the river. The cathedral is gorgeous. True, if you've seen one flying buttress, you've probably seen them all, but the scale and age of it are still amazing to me. I walked up this tiny, narrow, twisting staircase to the Treasury, where I saw a painted ceiling from the 1200s. I don't think I'll ever get used to how old things in Europe are - I mean, in Fort Worth, if we have a building surviving from the 1920s that's pretty old.

After walking back to the B&B and getting dressed, we met up with Anne at the train station and went to Nando's (yay!) for a quick dinner. I'm afraid I probably rushed us, as I was feeling pre-gig nervousness by then and wanted to get to the UEA ASAP. We arrived just in time to see Gary and Carl chatting to fans outside. I got a quick photo with Carl (the one I posted), and asked if he remembered my song. "Best Face, right?" he said, and I inwardly (O.K., and outwardly) squeed that he remembered. I also said hi to Gary, who was being a star by talking to people's friends on their cell phones. At one point, he had two conversations going, one on each ear. He was very funny and gracious to everyone. Have I mentioned before how awesome Gary is? Eventually he had to go to check in to his room in the dorm, which is apparently where they were putting up the guys for the night. Can you imagine going to school and seeing Carl in the hall of your dorm? I could totally see Gary making a new career as a Resident Advisor, though.

We waited around for about an hour for the doors to open. The most exciting thing that happened during that time was some police coming by to give us pamphlets on mobile phone safety, which advertise a number to call if your mobile phone is stolen. Ponder that for a moment. Once the doors opened, there was a bit of a mad rush to get inside. Despite delay caused by having an incredibly slow, disorganized lady taking care of those of us getting tickets on the door, we managed to get to the barrier, and I was once again in front of Didz, which as we all know is where the action is anyway. Surprisingly, although the people in the queue had raced to get inside, once at the barrier I looked around and found lots of room past the first few rows. The crowd seemed rather sedate, and in fact they were pretty sedate throughout most of the show, barring a few crowdsurfers at the very end.

A few "nervous pees" and three support acts later, DPT finally came on, late as usual. I have to say, I've seen DPT three times now, and they've never been on time. I've seen Peter once, and he was exactly on time. Who's the "reliable Libertine" now, eh, Carlos? Although the crowd's energy wasn't nearly as good as in Cambridge, I still really enjoyed the show, particularly because it was going to be my last one. We had an unexpected appearance of "Truth Begins," which I managed to start videoing about 30 seconds in, once I turned my camera on. I tried to upload it to YouTube before I left but it kept hanging up - I'll try again when I get back home tomorrow. However, one thing was missing from the set. My promised song. I was, let's say, a bit overemotional anyway, and my immediate reaction was OMG CARL HATES ME AND THAT'S WHY HE DIDN'T PLAY MY SONG. Everyone tried to reassure me that, no, Carl didn't hate me, he just hates "Best Face," and I did calm down a bit. Still, I was kind of apprehensive to go speak to Carl when he came outside. When he saw me, though, he started apologizing for not playing the song. He said his voice was "fucked," and that he'd thought about announcing from the stage why he couldn't do the song, but "no one understands what I say anyway," and he obviously felt bad about not being able to do the song for me, and then I felt bad that he felt bad, and I told him it was O.K. and that I'd had a wonderful time. He did say that they would probably do "Best Face" in Paris, and asked if I was coming back for Paris (he and Peter are trying to bankrupt me!). I told him, sadly, no, but I said that I would come back to see him whenever he got his next project going.

After that, I joined the other girls who were in conversation with Didz. I wish I could transcribe the entirety of what happened with Didz. Suffice to say, he's hilarious, and any residual upset I still felt was completely gone after talking to him. I got autographs for eirefaerie and opium_and_tea, both of which relate to basketball. I saw Carl again later and told him about the autographs, and he told me that Didz sometimes hangs around in basketball jerseys and was one of those "annoying kids" with basketball goals on the front of their homes. Didz really enjoyed taking the piss out of me. The conversation at one point veered to fish fucking. I don't know how you can top that, really.

Gary came back out, and we talked to him for a while as well. I only saw Stan for a second - the entirety of my interaction with him consisted of agreeing that Alan Partridge is hilarious, and confirming that Steve Coogan is from Norwich, which is a fact I'd read in a newspaper at Von's. Fear my powers of retention! Eventually, they all had to go, and after hugging all our friends goodbye we caught a cab back to the B&B.

The next morning, it was time to say goodbye to Katt, and to England. I got up and went to the train station to catch the 10:30 train to London, which I found out when I arrived had been cancelled, putting me on the 11 a.m. train. Not a big deal, since I had plenty of time to get to Heathrow. I decided to have breakfast in the Pumpkin Cafe inside the station, and sat down with my bacon roll and Diet Coke at a table. The cafe was pretty crowded - I guess with travellers waiting for the 11 o'clock like me - so when a guy in a suit asked to sit at my table I didn't mind. He was reading the paper, and on the back was an ad for the Saints-Chargers game at Wembley. Remember what I said before about being weirdly sociable in foreign countries? I decided that remarking on the ad would be a perfect conversation starter, and so when the man turned the page I caught his eye and said something about the game, which then launched us into a conversation about sports, and within a few minutes I'd made my new friend Terry. He runs a website design company in Norwich, and was on his way to London to meet with a client. He carried my luggage on to the train for me, and we sat together. Terry was very interested in my U.K. gig-going adventures, particularly how I'd flown over twice for Peter, and wanted to know what it is that I like about Peter, since he'd only seen him in the tabloids. Before the train pulled in to Liverpool Street Station, he gave me his e-mail, and I'm supposed to send him some Libs stuff. He was really nice, and I enjoyed having someone to talk to on the way - I was feeling pretty lonely and depressed about leaving, and it was nice to have someone to take my mind off that.

I took a cab from Liverpool Street to Paddington - expensive, but I missed London and hated that I hadn't really seen any of it this trip, so I decided on the overground rather than Underground route. It was worth it to me to see some of the city. After that, I ate lunch at Paddington Station, took the Express to Heathrow, checked in to my flight, and began the journey home, which isn't that exciting, except that my flight was almost completely empty so there was plenty of room to stretch out and sleep, which was nice.

I'm really happy I went. It was a crazy decision, I know, but I felt like I needed to say goodbye to this band, and I'm glad I had the opportunity to do it. I loved seeing everyone I'd met in April and July again, and meeting the people I met for the first time on this trip. I wish we all lived closer so I could see y'all all the time. Some of you need to come to South by Southwest in March! It's fun! Plus, as I overheard a man stopping in the middle of Sixth Street and saying incredulously this past year, "There's music everywhere!"

Oh, speaking of things I overheard people say, a little fanboy who passed by me in Norwich after meeting Carl was breathlessly saying to his friends, "He's even more handsome in person!" Yes, yes he is. I love fanboys :-) And I love these boys - Carl, Gary, Didz, and Anthony. Thanks for everything, guys. You've given me more than you know.

dachelle — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 01:01:08 GMT

In my hotel in Atlanta now, waiting for The Office to start, so I thought I'd try to type up my experiences in England.

So - Day 1. Or Day 2, really, as Day 1 began Friday night when I flew out of DFW and was mostly taken up with me sleeping, which isn't very interesting, unless you'd like to hear more about my paralyzing fear of being stricken with deep vein thrombosis that resulted in me waking up every 20 minutes to stretch my legs.

I arrived at Heathrow Saturday morning and took the Express to Paddington, where I caught the Circle line train to Kings Cross. I rushed - as much as I could rush with my luggage, and YES I KNOW I OVERPACKED THANKS FOR MENTIONING IT EVERYONE WHO SAW MY LUGGAGE EVER (I love you all, you know) - to the train, only to sit on it for ten minutes while it didn't go anywhere. This is when I struck up Random Stranger Conversation #1, with the Three Cute Boys from Bath. Now, I have a weird quirk that I am horribly, painfully shy in social situations. Invite me to a party with a bunch of people I don't know, and I will stand by the wall, head down and shaking in fear rather than speak to anyone. Get me, however, in a strange country on public transportation, and I become Chatty Cathy. I don't understand it either. Anyway, it turned out these boys went to uni in Bath and came to London on the weekends to drink. This particular occasion, they were staying in a hostel near Kings Cross that used to be a prison, and were planning on going drinking at Filthys, which I of course told them all about, it being a key stop on the April Tour of Grotty Places Peter and Carl Once Lived and Played. They were very disappointed that I wasn't staying in London to come drink with them, particularly the really cute one who spent the journey, once the train did begin moving, relating interesting facts about the history of the London Underground. I was really disappointed I wasn't staying in London, but DPT won out. Being Nice Boys, they carried my luggage for me into Kings Cross, and one of them let me use his phone to call Von and tell her when my train was coming in to Cambridge.

Now, my knowledge of Cambridge was entirely restricted to one thing - Cambridge University is there. And, as we all know, Cambridge University is old and posh. Therefore, I had this vague idea that I would get off the train and be confronted by a scene from Brideshead Revisted, all Edwardian clothes and people lounging about with long cigarettes. Instead, I found a family of teenage girls in tracksuits spitting on the sidewalk. Illusions shattered, I sighed, and sat down to wait for stjarna1984 outside the station. Finally, she arrived, and took me on the bus to Haverhill, where I was staying with her for the night. At my request, we went to eat Indian food, which was very good - I had a samosa and garlic naan and this chicken dish with almond paste that was awesome. Then, about halfway through the meal, I started to fall asleep, so we went back to her house, where I promptly did.

Sometime during the night, Von's parents arrived from visiting her brother in France. The next morning, Von and I went to Sainsbury's so I could get a Diet Coke. I ended up leaving with a Diet Coke, the Mighty Boosh Series 3 DVD, the new McFly CD and DVD (don't judge me!), two copies of the Mighty Book of Boosh (one for me and one for Erin), and a copy of Richard Hammond's latest book (I may have shrieked "Hamster!" when I saw it). When we got back, Von's dad kindly drove us into Cambridge, where I checked in to the B&B I would be staying in that night with kattrags and we met up with narie and airlight. We then decided to walk down to The Junction and stalk the band. We made a successful sighting of Gary, who blew his cover by walking by while air drumming. Further efforts at stalking were unsuccessful, although I got to eat at Nando's, so I counted it as a win.

I then left the girls bowling at the bowling alley in the entertainment center by The Junction, while I went into town to meet Katt. We'd heard that Adam was doing an instore appearance at Fopp, although we didn't know what time. We arrived just after he'd finished playing, which I think is going to be the story of my life when it comes to Adam. We had a good time hanging out and talking to him, though, and I got another picture with him to make up for the picture I took with him outside the RAH where he looks oddly intoxicated. After that, we met up for a brief drink with yfli and esclarmonde before going to the B&B to change and then taking a bus to the gig, where we met up with myska_x, madam_ray, rutherinahobbit, and later eastendbestend and junk_n_jubilee and suthnoli and I'm sure I'm forgetting people now, but anyway we got in and I got on the barrier in front of Didz, in roughly the same place I was standing when I saw DPT for the first time in Chicago.

After ~~suffering~~ waiting through Apollo Sunshine and Kieran Leonard, DPT came on. I don't think I could really describe either gig. People who have seen them more often than I do and who didn't fly 8000 miles to get to the gig probably have less prejudiced opinions, but for me, they were amazing. I didn't even mind nearly getting squashed against the barrier or getting kicked in the head by crowdsurfers or having my left leg be in screaming pain because all my weight was shoved onto it for an hour. It was wonderful. Carl took his shirt off, and I saw the back dimples in person. The songs from the new album sounded great, and hearing the songs from the first album live again reminded me of being in Chicago, and falling in love with the band the first time and how I got involved in fandom and started meeting all these wonderful people, so many of whom were around me then, and...yeah, it was just an amazing experience.

Afterwards, we went to the Soul Tavern, where Didz and Gary were DJing at the afterparty. Didz and Gary are...well, I did dance to a couple of songs they played, so maybe they're slightly better than Didz and Carl DJing. I somewhat embarrassingly did a bit of belly dancing to "Seven Nation Army" - all I can say is that I had a couple of drinks, and therefore cannot be held responsible for my actions. I talked to Gary, who was amazed that I'd come all the way from Texas to see them. Gary is so, so nice. Earlier, the conversation had turned to Gary being a superhero, and if he was a superhero, what his superhero name would be. "It would still be Gary," I'd said. And it totally would, because Gary is awesome. While I was talking to Gary, I said that I wanted to hear "Best Face," and Gary said, "You need to talk to that guy," pointing at Carl. I then took out a page from my notebook, and wrote the following:

Dear Carl,

I came all the way from Texas to see you. Please please please PLEASE play "Best Face" in Norwich.

Love,
Courtney :-)

I handed it up to Carl, who was standing with Anthony behind the DJ booth. Carl took it and read it, then passed it to Anthony. They had a quick word, and Carl gave me a thumb's up, which I regarded as a sacred trust.

The rest of the night was...somewhat frustrating, because we kept wanting to talk to Carl, and he kept getting pulled away by other people. I wanted a picture with him that 1) wasn't blurry (like Chicago) and 2) where I could see his face (unlike London). I did get one, but Carl looked - let's just say really, really, really wasted. I may post that one later for the lulz. I kind of lose control of all emotions when it comes to Carl, because there's so much I want to say to him, and I have no idea how to say it. I think Peter would be the only other person who could make me so shaky and tongue-tied. I did finally get to talk to Carl for a second, and I embarrassingly just burst into tears and blathered some sort of thank you for...IDK, everything, like I probably thanked him for, you know, sunlight and air and joy in addition to his music, and he gave me a big hug. And then afterwards I saw Gary again and cried on him some more.

There are so many emotions bound up with these boys for me, I don't even know where to start. I've made so many friends through this, and had such amazing experiences, going back to the first time I saw DPT in Chicago. The music and the fandom has helped me through some tough times. I mean, Peter and Carl's reunion came the month after my dad died last year, and that was the first time I felt happy after that happened. Writing fic, getting back into fandom, listening to the music - that brought me back to normal. And this year, I sort of feel like all the things that have happened around the boys have had something to do with my dad. Like, it's completely crazy, but I was so undecided about whether I should go on this trip and use some of my grandmother's money, and before I went to bed I asked my dad what I should do, and the next morning on my way to work I was behind a car with a license plate that read "DPT" and even though I know it was just a coincidence, it seemed like he was telling me to go and be happy and have a good time. Everyone I've met who's been connected with these bands - the members and the fans - has been so wonderful. I don't know what my life would be like if I hadn't found them, really. And it's sort of frustrating to me that I can't convey that, exactly. Like I just want to sit down and pour out to them exactly what they mean to me, and everything I say always seems inadequate, and leaves me feeling a bit bad later.

But I did get a Carl hug.

Off to eat now. Day 4 in Norwich follows, including more gigs! More Carl! More crying! More conversations with random strangers on trains!

dachelle — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 04:28:31 GMT

A few random guys I met in England :-)

dachelle — Tue, 14 Oct 2008 14:31:54 GMT

At the airport now. I do wish I could stay and see the London show tonight, but given a choice between coming and seeing the two gigs I have done and not seeing them at all, I wouldn't have missed out on this experience for anything. It was so so so so so so so so so amazing. I SAW CARL EATING A BANANA, Y'ALL. And SHIRTLESS CARLOS! And OMG Didz is the funniest person I have ever met, and Gary is just the loveliest man, and Carlos is ♥ despite a brief period of time in which I was convinced he hated me, but of course he didn't (I just get over-emotional about Carl) and he thanked me for coming and I got lots of hugs and I cried all over him and Gary and...well, everyone, really, except Didz, because Didz was busy taking the piss out of me and I was trying to do the same to him, although I wasn't nearly as good at it. I was on the barrier for both Cambridge and Norwich, so I can say I've been in front every time I've seen DPT. The shows are AMAZING. I am still sore from Cambridge, which is the most physical gig I've ever been to, but it's all good. And I saw Adam as well! Unexpected!Adam is a nice bonus, and he was as lovely as he was in July. I think I have him half-convinced to come to SXSW, maybe. I hope so, anyway.

I loved seeing everyone. I miss all of you already, and sorry for the tears! I just...I cannot really express what this fandom has meant to me. I will love Peter and Carl and the rest of the boys forever just for bringing me into contact with such wonderful people. Special thanks to my lovely stjarna1984 for the room, the company, and just being you :-), to kattrags for sharing B&B space with me - it was so nice to finally meet you!, and to cucumbersarnies for the quick dinner and ride to the UEA - I'll see you soon! And everyone else - sorry, this keyboard is defeating me with coding, but if I met you before then you know who you are and I'm really happy I got to see you again, and if I met you for the first time this trip I definitely enjoyed it and...and...can I come back again now please?

Everyone has just been so great, even people who I didn't know. When I got in to Paddington, I met this group of guys from Bath on the Tube, and they carried my luggage to the train in Kings Cross for me and let me use their phone to call Von. They were quite disappointed that I wasn't staying in London, actually - I think they wanted me to come drinking with them. And then today in Norwich Station I met a man named Terry who runs a website company and was on his way to London to meet with a client, and spent the whole journey talking to him about my insane adventures chasing bands around the country, and how British T.V. is superior to American T.V., and we've now exchanged e-mails. I am to send him a .zip file of Libs/Shambles/DPT stuff, as I've now encouraged him to give Peter a shot as an artist - he only knows him through the tabloid stuff.

Anyways, I have pictures and a vid of most of "Truth Begins" from Norwich to upload when I get back. Love all y'all. Later!

dachelle — Sun, 07 Sep 2008 19:03:48 GMT

For foresthouse - and everyone, really. Please add more in the comments - I really should have a "Fluffy hair Peter" folder or something to organize these.

dachelle — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 20:19:42 GMT

Me and people more famous than me:

dachelle — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 17:14:42 GMT

I think most of you are aware of this, as I met a good number of you through it, and I'm pretty open about it in my journal, but in case you friended me through something else and don't know, I write RPS, otherwise known as real person slash. Basically, this means I write a lot of stories about Peter Doherty and Carl Barat getting it on. Sometimes there are even plots! ;)

I know people have differing opinions on RPF/RPS, and I respect that. I don't expect everyone on my flist to read my fic. I know some of you don't, for various reasons, and that's O.K. with me. It is, however, a big part of my online life, so I'd ask you in return to respect that I've given some consideration to what I do and what lines I draw in reading/writing fic, and that for me it's a positive thing and not something I personally view as inherently creepy or disrespectful to the people involved.

Anyway, just putting this out there as an FYI, and leaving it unlocked.

dachelle — Thu, 01 May 2008 20:02:52 GMT

The next morning we woke up to a lovely breakfast (scrambled eggs! Toast! Tea! Cheddar!), and then walked down to the bus station directly across from the train station to catch the bus to Land's End. We decided we also wanted to go to St. Ives that afternoon, which is on the opposite end of the peninsula from Penzance, though since the peninsula is pretty small that's only about a half-hour away. Our bus driver, seen here taking a smoke break, was very helpful and wrote down all the bus times for us to get there and back. Everyone in Cornwall was really nice.

The morning was overcast and misty. The bus stopped at Porthcurno, the birthplace of the transatlantic telegraph, and home of the Minick Theatre, where I snapped these pictures of the coast.

A short time later, we'd arrived at Land's End. Huzzah! All place signs in Cornwall have the Cornish place names after the English ones, by the way.

I took like 8 million pictures of Land's End, and going through them realized they all look like the same picture. I mean, it's a pretty place, but basically, it is what the name implies - a place where land ends.

The first and last telephone box and house in England. This is a big thing in Land's End. The first and last post box! The first and last toilet! The first and last pile of dog crap! You get the picture.

After we'd exhausted the scenic possibilities of the cliffs at Land's End, it was time to take in the Doctor Who exhibit, which has probably the best entrance ever.

The exhibit consists of lots of props from the new series, with screens playing clips from their respective episodes.

And here's me at...hey, what's that behind me?

Why, it's the statue from "Blink"! Which I will assure you is just as fucking creepy in real life as it was on the show.

AUGH!

And now - Dalek! It's so cute. It comes up from behind this wall and shouts "EXTERMINATE!" at you. I love the sign in front, "Do Not Touch the Dalek." If someone would like to icon that for me it would be brill.

The way out of the exhibit, with a familiar slogan:

When we got out of the Who exhibit, the mist had finally burned off, and it was sunny, allowing me to get a picture at last of what had become something of an obsession on our visit - the lighthouse a few miles offshore. I'd been trying to get a photo of it all morning and miserably failing. This attempt isn't much better, but at least you can see there's a lighthouse there if you click on the pic to make it bigger. Sort of.

Afterwards, we got on the next bus from Land's End to St. Ives, which is a pretty little coastal town just made to be put on a postcard, with shops and houses huddled up the hills by the beach and winding, cobblestone streets.

Yes, St. Ives, where they enjoy fudge!

And cute fluffy sheep!

And...ferrets?

Seriously, what is WRONG with the man in that pub sign? Why does he have three ferrets, and why does he look so creepily happy to have them? What have they been doing under his coat? Do I want to know?

The other thing to know about St. Ives is that they have seagulls. And not just any seagulls, which are common to every town in Cornwall. No, they have big, nasty seagulls, which have formed gangs so aggressive that the locals are forced to warn against them.

You thought I was kidding, didn't you? Anyway, basically, on the seafront at St. Ives every shop sells one of the following: pasties, fudge, ice cream. The bad thing is, none of the shops will allow you to eat any of those things inside, so you must take them out on the street. This is where the seagulls wait. Seriously, it's not that people are feeding the seagulls voluntarily. It's survival! Bianca got an ice cream, and we were walking on the pier towards the lighthouse. She was standing facing me, taking a bite, when suddenly this MASSIVE FUCKING SEAGULL came SWOOPING AT HER HEAD with a look of DOOM. I just stood frozen in terror. Nothing in my past life experience had prepared me to deal with seagull attack. The seagull failed in its initial attempt to steal the ice cream, and began to make a second swoop, whereupon Bianca tossed the remainder of the cone into the air, and the seagull gulped it down and flew away, finally sated. It was one of the most terrifying things I've ever experienced. I seriously thought it might rip her head off. I got an ice cream later, and ate it hunched over, nervously glancing up in fear.

Seagulls are scary, yo.

After that fraught experience, we relaxed in this pleasant garden before catching the bus back to Penzance, with not a little relief at leaving the seagulls behind, and going to bed to prepare for the next morning and our visit to St. Michael's Mount.

dachelle — Thu, 01 May 2008 19:04:53 GMT

And here's me and Drew after the afterparty at Cargo. Yeah, it had been raining all day and I was looking pretty rough. And yes, I am incredibly short. It was funny - when we were taking the pic I was like, I feel like Drew's head is completely on top of mine. And lo and behold, it was!

dachelle — Thu, 01 May 2008 16:39:27 GMT

Via cut_paste_twist, it's me with my incredibly formal autograph from Carl on Thursday night!

I love how he signs it "yours truly." I think all his autographs should come in this form from now on:

Dear (fan name),

Here is your autograph. I hope you will find it to your satisfaction. Thank you for your kind attention.

Very sincerely yours,
Mr. Carl Ashley Raphael Barât
X

dachelle — Thu, 01 May 2008 01:51:22 GMT

My day actually began the previous evening, when I flew out of D/FW at 7:20 p.m. The flight was uneventful. I was very lucky as I'd booked an aisle seat on a two-seat row, and I ended up not having anyone at the window seat, so I could stretch out and try to get some sleep. It didn't work very well. I dozed off somewhere off the coast of Nova Scotia and woke up again just before Ireland.

Upon arriving at Heathrow, I had to get my bags and schlep them down to the train to Paddington. Waiting for the train, I was joined by two men who had a discussion about gay porn, which I thought was an auspicious and appropriate beginning to my journey.

When I got to Paddington, I somehow managed to meet up with yfli right after exiting the train. Well, I say "somehow." It probably has to do with the fact that Bianca is smrt and looked up my train arrival time on the board. We hugged and squeed and used the pay toilet (that part wasn't together) and sat in a cafe to await the train to Penzance, which left a couple of hours after I got there.

The train journey was long but pretty, going through parts of the English countryside I'd never seen. My overwhelming impression was that England has a lot of sheep. At one point, our train stopped for a long time for no apparent reason next to this rather disturbing depiction of an axe.

At another point during our journey, we passed by the Westbury white horse. I did not know what this was at the time, but have since Googled it. Apparently, there are similar horse hill figures all over Wiltshire. No wonder Peter moved there.

We also went through Plymouth. Sadly, people dressed as Pilgrims did not appear to be wandering the streets, but we did get to go over an awesome bridge that I tried to take a picture of from the train.

We did not, however, go through St. Erth, because St. Erth does not exist. < /inside joke>

Finally, after about 5 and a half hours of travel, Penzance!

Fortunately for my tired and aching limbs, our guest house was not far from the train station, though it was up a bit of a hill. I did not realize Cornwall was so hilly. Expect Peter to get seriously winded running about after Carl at some point during "Penzance." He's also going to eat some fudge. Which I'm now realizing could be taken as something very dirty indeed but I AM SO NOT GOING THERE, O.K.?

After settling in to our lovely and cozy room, Bianca and I set off to get some grub - a bit of a challenge, as most things in Cornwall seem to close around 5 p.m. However, the Turk's Head Pub, advertised as Penzance's oldest pub (with smuggler's tunnels underneath!) seemed promising. Due to my less-than-impressive map-reading skillz, we ended up walking the wrong way up yet another hill. On the plus side, we did get some gorgeous views of the town.

Back down the hill and a 5-10 minute walk down Market Jew Street (is it just me, or is that vaguely racist?) later, we arrived at the Turk's Head.

We sat in a booth behind a booth occupied by two elderly gentlemen who were sharing some wine and some of the more expensive menu options. Listening to their conversation, it soon became apparent that they were both retired theatre actors. Y'all, I cannot explain how exciting this was to me. It was like listening to Peter O'Toole and Richard Harris having a drink in their dotage - so bitchy and amusing. At one point, one of them actually said to the other, "I've always found you coarse and abrasive, but that hasn't affected our friendship." Bianca and I listened to their discussion about their possibly gay friend Jonathan (who's in denial) and the sordid triangle between him, Dominic, and Derek while eating our fish and chips. Eventually, however, Bianca and I started talking ourselves, only to find that their conversation had stopped and they were now listening to us. We stopped talking, and one of them turned to us and told us to go on! They were very nice, asking us why we were in Penzance. Bianca and I were both like, "ummm...." Although, if anyone in Penzance might have understood the reason for our journey, I think it would have been them. While I went up to the bar to pay, Bianca talked to them and got their recommendations for places to go in Penzance, while I did the same with the ladies at the bar. Both of them, it turned out, recommended taking trips to St. Ives and St. Michael's Mount, the latter of which we'd already planned on doing, so with that advice we went back to the hotel and rested up for the next day.

dachelle — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 03:56:55 GMT

O.K., I lied. I'm uploading a few pics now. Have some pretty Drew and Carl from Cargo Sunday night.

And the only Carl pic from Twickenham that really turned out decently:

dachelle — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 05:48:19 GMT

Uploading all the pictures I took at South by from my camera now. This was my first outing with my new camera. We're still getting used to each other, and a lot of pictures didn't turn out like I wanted, but I'm fairly happy with many of them.

My girlcrush Adele from Sons and Daughters being *~fierce~* at Antone's.

Ed Larrikin with The Pan I Am at the Rio, in a rare non-scary shot. I love you, Eddie. But I also fear you.

I mentioned that Joe Lean from Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong is really hot, right? Because...yeah. At Emo's.

Matt from Pigeon Detectives showing off his mad mic-flinging skillz at the Filter party at Cedar Street Courtyard.

Aimi from Make Model at the NME Showcase at Wave Rooftop. I thought she was adorable, and I love this shot.

These New Puritans at Antone's, auditioning for a Gladiator sequel, or possibly a remake of Life of Brian.

Alison Mosshart of The Kills smartly avoided packing for the trip to Austin by wearing all of her clothes instead. At Antone's.

OMG LOOK AT HIS BRACELETS. The Wombats at the Liverpool party at Latitude. They were so much fun I didn't even notice the demon at the side of the stage attempting to steal our souls.

I think pretty much everything you need to know about Ox. Eagle. Lion. Man. can be summed up by this picture. At the NME Showcase at Wave Rooftop.

I'll be gradually putting up pics on Flickr, and will link to them when I'm done.

dachelle — Fri, 02 Nov 2007 02:29:51 GMT

Wee Peter 'n Carlos picspam, for halfrek2, who asked if Carl was always touching Peter like in the picture I posted earlier today.

(Carl, on top of Peter)

Now I need to go write more fic...

dachelle — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 12:56:14 GMT

Today's Carl Week post is dedicated to favorite pictures of Carl, although, again, please save all arse shots until Friday. Here's one of my favorites, a screencap from the Adam Green doc.

Granted, it's not the hottest pic or anything, but he's so smiley and cute, and it just makes me happy every time I see it.

More pics?

dachelle — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 03:30:57 GMT

MOAR CARL WEEK!

After reading through the comments in the previous post, I'm now uploading the favorite Carl vocals, so that those of you who only know him for his arse (which, I suspect, is a sizeable minority on my flist), can see his other side. Ahem. These are in no particular order - believe me, it took long enough to get all these uploaded without worrying about sorting them.

The Good Old Days - The Libertines, from the Babyshambles Sessions. I always feel those sessions should be titled "The Confusingly Titled Babyshambles Sessions," because that's how I always see them referred to. It's a session track, so there's a false start, and Carl for some reason decides to end it with an impression of a motorboat, but the harmonies with his vocals and Peter's are really lovely in this version.

Dream a Little Dream of Me - Peter Doherty and Carl Barat, from An Evening with Peter Doherty at the Hackney Empire. It does lose a little something without the visual of the tapdancing at the break, but Carl clearly loves to sing this song, and his voice is well suited to it.

Who's Got the Crack? (Moldy Peaches cover) - The Libertines, from the Babyshambles Sessions. My personal pick, because I will never, ever get tired of hearing Carl say the word "poofy."

What Became of the Likely Lads? (Single Mix) - The Libertines, from the What Became of the Likely Lads? EP. "And all those nights you were so wrong, I would hold you for so long and say you're not so bad." *cough*ofcoursetherelationshipwasneverphysicalCarl*cough*

A Day in the Life (Beatles cover) - Peter Doherty and Carl Barat, from the BBC Sgt. Pepper's 40th Anniversary tribute. I think everyone agrees that this is Carl's best vocal. I was nervous about this cover because it could have gone extremely wrong. As soon as Carl started singing the first verse, though, I knew it had gone very right. Moreover, I wondered where on earth Carl had been hiding that voice.

One to My Left - Dirty Pretty Things, from the Deadwood single. A wistful, almost broken, and honest vocal.

Panic Attack (Paddingtons cover) - Dirty Pretty Things, from the Napster Sessions. I like this better than the Paddingtons' original version. I realize that's perhaps not a ringing endorsement, but I think it's a very good version all the way round.

France - The Libertines, from the Legs 11 demo. By far the most popular Carl vocal choice. However, having destroyed this lovely song in the boyband fic, I find it hard to listen to now. I always want him to sing my, um, alternate lyrics.

Can't Stand Me Now - Carl Barat, from the Rolling Stone sessions. Hearing Carl have to sing those lines by himself always kind of breaks my heart.

Eight Days a Week (Beatles cover) - Carl Barat, from the Mexico sessions. eirefaerie thinks Carl's voice sounds "twangy" here. Judge for yourself.

Vertigo - The Libertines, from Up the Bracket. This is the song that got me into the Libertines, so I am very happy to include it.

Sadly, I seem to have "misplaced" the Pukkelpop performance that lali mentioned. Oh, dear. And I can't believe no one listed "General Smuts" :P

Tomorrow, we're going to have a free-for-all picspamming thread, so bring your favorite Carl photos! Unless they're of his arse, because arse pics are Friday. Saving the best for the end, so to speak.

dachelle — Mon, 08 Oct 2007 19:19:41 GMT

Welcome to Carl Week! Every day, I will feature a post dedicated to Mr. Carl Ashley Raphael Barât. Today, we've got some of my favorite interview bits from and about Carl. Feel free to add to them in the comments, particularly if you can find the one where Carl and Peter talk about Parva, and Carl says his specialist subject on Mastermind would be masturbation.

Carl Barât’s message bank message is as follows: “Hellooo!” in a cheery voice, followed by a beat, then a positively despondent “Leave a message.”

From The Age

"I love chivalry and elegance and class, but having said that, I'm a lazy bastard with ADD."

From http://youtube.com/watch?v=0SHV50qr7j8

TOTP: What kind of playground games did you play when you were younger?
Carl: Er, join on for He-Man?
Didz: Bulldog!
TOTP: Join on for He-Man - is that the one where you walk round the playground asking who wants to join in?
Carl: Yeah, you put your arms out and then if it was me I'd be walking around going [chants] "Join on for He-Man!" and I was there for about 20 minutes and no one would join in.
TOTP: Did you ever find that you spend so long doing that that by the time you had enough people you didn't have any time left to actually play the game?
Carl: No, I was just hideously unpopular.

From Top of the Pops

Have you ever Googled yourself?
Of course. But all that came up was some filthy bit of fan fiction about The Libertines. I looked at it the other night with my girlfriend but I can't seem to get it up anymore.

From British GQ

As Dirty Pretty Things’ crew clear the last of the equipment, the Manumission DJ hits his stride just in time for some more of the venue’s employees to make their entrance. There’s a saxophonist whose job is to wander among the revellers and play live “solos” over the existing music. Onstage, a bevy of semi-naked women show off their full repertoire of saucy dances.

“Do you see what I mean? We were asked if we wanted to have a couple of them on stage with us,” says Rossomando. “It was tempting, wasn’t it, Carl?” Deploying the considered manner of someone who has already pondered the matter, Barât nods in agreement. “Well, it would have been nice to have a little bit of Ibiza on stage with us,” he says.

“But our music is quite fast — and, amply endowed as they are, those women couldn’t have danced to it without getting two black eyes. So, in the end, we refused. On compassionate grounds.”

From timesonline.co.uk

There are loads of gay erotic fantasy stories about you and Pete being lovers on the internet, does that bother you?
C: I completely advocate creative thought, and if people want to make up stories, I am flattered to be involved. I don't mind it at all really. I'd rather people did creative things than did nothing or negative things or talking shit in forums.
D: I would be quite flattered I think.
C: Didz is hoping someone might very well do it for him as well. You just need to work out which band member you'd like to be with. (laughs) Even if it's not sexual, I wish there was more things to advocate creative writing.
D: Stories like ‘Carl Slays Dragon'.
C: That's like a personal fantasy - me slaying a dragon in a particularly tight suit of armour.
D: Chain mail really…
C: Who else have they written stories about?
Morrissey and Marr and the guys from Suede…
D: Well, that's an obvious one, that's like saying the guys from Right Said Fred.
Funny you should mention Right Said Fred, because there is a very funny clip on Youtube of Carl in which he's being made to look like he's singing "I'm Too Sexy'. Have you seen it? It seems like an obvious charity single?
C: (laughs) What does it look like? Are they taking the piss out of me?
No, I think they made it because they think you actually are too sexy.
C: Well then, let's get it out there.
D: Call the record company.

From Boyz magazine

What's your favourite smell?
Carl: I like the smell of my Grandma's soap - I used to sit in the bath and eat it.

From bbc.co.uk

Anyway, that particular day 10 of us were on our way to the pillbox to burn all the newspapers in there. We were climbing this big barbed-wire fence. After I'd cleared it I heard this clang and a sputter and panicky yelpy noises behind me. I turned round to see a kid we all called Foghorn (his voice was that loud) impaled on the barbed wire...

Obviously, someone needed to be grown-up and that day it was me. I only had shorts and plimsolls on and to get back to camp quickly I would have to cut across big fields of nettles as high as my head. I was terrified of being stung by plants and hated wasps (I used to cut them up), but I applied the advice of some of the people at the camp, which was that if you believe you are at one with the nettles, you won't get stung. I legged it through that whole field and didn't get stung once. It's never worked since.

From Carl's essay about the summer of 1989 in the Observer

"I'm quite shy, so I worry people will meet me and think I'm rubbish. I don't want to disappoint."

From Contact Music

"Buffalo."

From http://youtube.com/watch?v=s86yjAE3Lzs

"We didn't really get on," Doherty agrees. "But I was fascinated by ideas he had about himself and the country. I'd never met anyone like him. It was - what's the word when you can't take your eyes off someone?"

Magnetic? Riveting?

Barât theatrically arches an eyebrow. "Someone's been reading Roget."

"Yes, it was riveting," Doherty continues. "Despite everything, you knew there was goodness there. Something to believe in. Something which is good, pure and untainted by anything."

From the Guardian

I’m elated to have come up with the mystery part for ‘How Can They Be Tired of England?’. We debuted it on tour at the end of last year I was ‘free-styling’ the lyrics a bit but I thought it sometimes sounded reined in. I was on the tube when when the epiphany struck and I sang it into Didz’s phone. Who knows what all the tourists thought. Probably, “there’s two lads sharing an epiphany”.

From his band diary on the DPT website

"Carl has got a patriotic side to him, you know," confides Pete. "It's not patriotic," corrects Carl, "it's romance. It's the romance of kings and queens and palaces. I'm up for anything, really." Pete: "We both are. Fuck it. Can we go outside now?"

From the NME

Thanks to stjarna1984 for making the banner :-)

dachelle — Sat, 21 Jul 2007 15:05:15 GMT

So, you know how something sucky sometimes happens, and then it turns out that - well, it's still sucky, but it's also kind of good that it happened? Last night I was quite emo about not getting to go to the Harry Potter release party at Borders because of my tire situation. I was sitting here, on txvoodoo's computer, refreshing my flist pointlessly and pouting because EVERYONE ELSE was at HP parties, and I was stuck back at home. I was like Cinderella, in a way.

Anyway, I was sitting here around 11 o'clock, just about ready to turn everything off and go to bed, when I heard a loud, continuous beeping sound. Because I are smrt, I worked out that this = probably not good. I figured out that it was coming from one of the fish tanks, so I called Lisa, who gave me over to Scott. I was inspecting the tanks while I was talking to him, and pretty quickly noticed a rather large puddle of water developing in front of one of them, which again, I figured = not good. I was quite right, since Scott told me to contact Tom, a member of their fish club, right away. So I called Tom, and he agreed to come over and fix the fish problem, and for the next half hour I waited while the dogs whined at me like, lady, there's BEEPING. Fix it plz kthnxbai. And I was all, I know there's beeping, but I don't know what to do because FISH! and WATER! and IT'S BEEN A VERY TRAUMATIC DAY STOP STARING AT ME WITH YOUR DOXIE EYES! Actually, I didn't say any of that. I just sort of joined them in the whimpering, because the beeping was quite annoying.

Finally, Tom arrived. In Lisa's house manual (there's a manual! With pictures!), she describes Tom as "an aging hippie." This is fair, I think. I let Tom in and showed him to the tanks, with gestures indicating my general confusion and helplessness. Tom did some things I didn't understand while I watched him, all non-understand-y, and then he called Scott, and talked about things I didn't understand. This is where it gets interesting, though, because as he was talking to Scott, we heard this weird popping sound, and we were all, WTF? Then it stopped, but just for a moment, before returning even louder, and WITH FLAMES. THAT'S RIGHT, THERE WAS A FIRE. IN LISA'S HOUSE. Apparently some of the water from the leaking tank had dripped into one of the power cords under the tank, and caused it to short out, which it did in spectacular fashion. Luckily, Tom was able to get the fire under control quickly. He unplugged everything, and I got out the Shop Vac so he could vacuum up the water before doing more stuff with the tanks.

Meanwhile, Lisa called me on my cell, and she was all, OMGFLAMES!!!!!!!!, and I was all, I KNOW!!!!!!!!!!, and I looked at the clock and realized that, if I hadn't had a tire blowout earlier in the day, I would have been at Borders right then, and wouldn't have been at the house to hear the beeping, and then the fire might have started with no one around, and...well, we're just not going to think about that.

Finally, Tom and Scott finished discussing whatever they needed to about the tanks. More importantly, the beeping finished, much to my, Cache, Carrie and Jasper's relief. Tom agreed to stay the night on the spare bed by the tanks in case something else happened, which I was glad about, because God knows I don't know how to fix it. I do know where the fire extinguisher is now, though, so that's good. The rest of the night passed uneventfully, and I woke up this morning to find the fish swimming about happily and fire-free, and Tom gone, so I'm assuming everything's O.K.

I'm about to head off to Wal-Mart to get new tires and purchase a copy of HP7 (so dun spoil, k?), but I have to say, I don't know if Borders could have beat my night for excitement. I mean, I had FLAMES. I think that wins.

dachelle — Wed, 18 Jul 2007 03:38:34 GMT

So, I wrote this teensy little ficlet based on my crack!dream. Um, enjoy, I guess. Oh, and the name of the curse came from macphista.

The battle between Harry and Voldemort raged on top of the hill, their wands locked in combat. Harry felt himself weakening. Voldemort's blows had left him bruised and bloodied. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer. Just then, Voldemort cast a spell that knocked him off his feet. He landed hard on the ground. Harry saw Voldemort's terrible smile looming above him, his wand raised, ready to deal Harry the killing blow. And at that moment, Harry remembered a spell that Dumbledore had taught him, during one of their late night sessions together at Hogwarts. A spell so terrible that even speaking its name could cause fear and trembling in the greatest of wizards. "It is a spell," Dumbledore had told him, "that produces a fate worse than death. Use it only if you must." And then he had whispered the secret in Harry's ear, making Harry's eyes go wide, and his skin break out in a cold sweat.

It was the spell Harry had hoped he would never have to use. But now, seeing Voldemort there, his wand at the ready, he knew he had no choice.

"LOREM IPSUM!" Harry exclaimed, putting the last of his strength behind the words, wand held high. A spark of light shot out and exploded into the night. The earth itself seemed to wait with bated breath in the silence for what was to come next.

But there was nothing.

The Dark Lord began to laugh.

"Is that all?" he sneered, drawing his wand back again and pointing it straight at Harry. "Avada Kev -"

At that moment, a strange popping sound emerged in the air next to Voldemort's head. The Dark Lord paused, his eyebrow-less forehead furrowed in confusion. The air where the pop had happened seemed to fold in on itself, and from that fold a creature emerged. It hopped out, and then hovered in the air beside Voldemort. Voldemort stared at it. It blinked back at him, bulging, boggling eyes above a silly curve of a smile, sitting on top of a metal, twisted body.

It was a paperclip.

And it talked.

"I think you're trying to use an Unforgivable Curse!" the paperclip exclaimed jauntily. "Would you like some help?"

"No," Voldemort replied coldly, shooing the apparition away, as if it was beneath his further notice. "Now," he said, turning his attention back to Harry, "where were we? Ah, yes," he said, a sick grin on his face. "Avada Kev -"

"You could try the Cruciatus curse," the paperclip suggested. "Would you like more information on Cruciatus?"

"I believe I know what Cruciatus is, thank you," Voldemort said. "If you'll excuse me, I have some rather more pressing business to attend to." He gestured towards Harry, who was still lying on the ground, his nose and mouth bloodied. The paperclip's bulging eyes followed the lead of his hand, and it turned back to Voldemort, smiling.

"I think you're trying to kill Harry Potter!" it exclaimed, quite pleased with itself. "Would you like some help?"

"No, thank you," Voldemort replied acidly. "I can cope without the aid of a talking paperclip or staple or...whatever you are." He raised his wand again, ready once more to deal Harry the killing blow. Harry winced, closing his eyes in anticipation, his left forearm shielding his face.

"I think you're trying to purchase office supplies!" the paperclip chirped. Harry opened his eyes. "Would you like some help?"

"No!" Voldemort cried. Then he paused, as what the paperclip said registered with him. "Office supplies? What...?" He shook his head, his expression clearly reflecting his frustration. "Where did you acquire that ridiculous notion?" He turned towards the paperclip, which blinked at him, stupid grin still plastered across what passed for its face. "Who are you?" Voldemort demanded. "Where did you come from?"

"I think you're trying to figure out how babies are made!" the paperclip replied, completely oblivious to Voldemort's dangerous tone of voice. "Would you like some help?"

"NO!" Voldemort shouted. "I would not like some help. I would not like any help at all, ever! I would just like to kill Harry Potter" - he pointed at Harry, who by now had picked himself off the ground and was watching the spectacle with interest - "and then I will be all-powerful and eternal. ALL OF WHICH I CAN DO WITHOUT YOUR HELP. So return to the foul pit from whence you emerged, and BEGONE!" Voldemort punctuated his rant with a flourish of his wand.

The paperclip hung in the air for a moment, its smile faded. It blinked, and bent its body slightly from side to side, mulling Voldemort's words. Finally, it spoke.

"I think you're trying to kill Harry Potter!" it exclaimed, the smile returning. "Would you like some help?"

"AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" Voldemort's scream of rage echoed throughout the night. The paperclip just hovered there in the air, grinning and blinking.

At that moment, Ginny ran up the hill towards him. Harry felt grateful beyond words that she had survived the battle with the Death Eaters. Her face was smudged with dirt and blood, her hair tousled and her clothing singed, but her mouth spread in a smile when she saw Harry, and they embraced.

"Ron - Hermione - Neville -" Harry started to question, but Ginny shook her head.

"They're all alright," she said, "but we'll talk about it later." Her attention turned to the paperclip, which was still tormenting Voldemort with its ceaseless questioning. "What is that?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"That," Harry answered gravely, "is the Lorem Ipsum curse."

"The Lorem Ipsum!" Ginny's exclamation came as a whisper. Harry could see her shudder as the words passed her lips. "Even for the Dark Lord, Harry, that is a cruel curse."

"I had no choice," Harry replied. He looked straight into Ginny's eyes. "He would have killed me, Ginny," he said seriously. Ginny gulped and nodded, but Harry could see she was still troubled by his use of the curse.

Meanwhile, the paperclip had not let up its assault on Voldemort.

"I think you're trying to achieve global domination!" the paperclip twittered. "Would you like some help?

"Oh, yes," Voldemort responded sarcastically. "Please, please help me. After all, I'm only the Dark Lord, the wizard who split his soul into seven Horcruxes and survived the killing curse. What could I possibly know about magic that cannot be better explicated by a nattering piece of twisted metal? So, please," he said, pulling out his robes and bowing, "enlighten me."

The paperclip blinked at him.

"I think you're trying to find out about Horcruxes!" it squeaked. "Would you like some help?"

And at that moment, Voldemort did something Harry thought he would never see the Dark Lord do. He fell to his knees, his wand dropping from his hand as he clutched his horrible, featureless face, and began to sob, while the paperclip danced around him.

"Oh, Harry!" Ginny cried, hiding her head in Harry's sleeve. "It's so terrible. I can't bear to look!"

"I think you're having a nervous breakdown!" the paperclip observed, looking down at Voldemort. "Would you like some help?"

"Come on," Harry said, putting his arm around Ginny's shoulder. "Let's get out of here." They walked back down the hill towards their friends. Behind them, they could hear Voldemort's weeping, punctuated by cries from the paperclip of "Would you like some help? Would you like some help?" Ginny began to turn her head, but Harry stopped her.

"No, Ginny," he said, holding her tight. "Don't look back. Just walk away."

In the days that followed, Harry was heralded as a hero. His picture was splashed across the cover of the Daily Prophet. The Boy Who Triumphed, he was called. But Harry didn't feel very triumphant. Voldemort had been taken to St. Mungo's and placed in a special, solitary ward. Solitary, that is, except for the paperclip, which continued its incessant questioning, to the sound of Voldemort's moans of anguish. The Dark Lord's punishment would be decided later, but there were many who felt - Harry among them - that the Lorem Ipsum was punishment enough. Harry knew it had to be done, knew he'd not had a choice, but he still felt guilty, hearing that terrible voice chattering away, seeing those dumb, blinking eyes and inane grin. Harry's scar might never hurt again, but the nightmare of the deathly Clippy would haunt him for the rest of his days.