Blogging Dylan-at-the-O2 blues

A quick break from my blogging hiatus to mention I finally got to see Bob Dylan last night. Of course, he's no Graham Parker (Surrey Heath's equivalent and- I would maintain- superior answer to the latter) but Dylan's songs really do have power behind them; they truly must for his pretty much defunct voice to carry them over to the audience... especially when some of said audience (including yours' truly) are stuck far up in the gods, staring at a distant, blobby, white sixties' legend through a pair of binoculars. I made a few friends among the other suburban, white, Mr. Jones types, passing around said binoculars.

The main story last night was transport. Those idiots who call the shots on these things decided that the night of a sold-out concert in a massive arena, serviced by a single underground line, was the optimum one to close the same. Apparently, there was a bus replacement but this was up in Stratford (to paraphrase The Stereophonics: you've got to go up all the way up there to come back down. No way!!). Instead, I attempted to get across the city on various packed buses. At one point, I was waiting at a particularly hairy intersection near Elephant & Castle, one eye on my watch, the other on the local dealers. It did actually cross my mind that, rather than a comfortable journey from stolid middle-class Surbiton, along the Jubilee, Dylan would rather I have the authentic experience, nearly get trampled forcing my way on to a packed 188 and write a protest song about all the carnage. It also crossed my mind that he probably wouldn't give a shit and that this was the more likely of the two.

My highlights of the concert were: 'Things have changed' and 'Like a Rolling Stone'. During the latter, I started thinking about this American with a literary bent and an unusual voice who had become the voice of his generation. After that, and despite all the tribulations with TFL, I felt really, really good about going...

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Right, that being that, I am back on blogging hiatus!