Tragic

Last Friday was a momentous event for Ange and I. It was only a day off our one year anniversary of arriving back in UK. It was also our first time out in London, just the two of us. First you ask, how does this happen?

Well, one word for that: Shivani. Shiv offered us tickets to see a gig at the famous Astoria concert venue in London and babysat Anna so we could go out. So, what wonderfully British event did we partake in to celebrate a year in the UK? Drum roll please... we went and saw the Tragically Hip.

They were hip. The crowd, however, was the tragic part. For any Canadian who grew up in the 1990s, the Hip were the event to go to. Less frequent than the Watchmen or Spirit of the West and far cooler than the Barenaked Ladies or Great Big Sea, a Hip concert was something to look forward to and relish with a degree of disregard for one's liver and personal safety (i.e. the mosh pits).

However, the 1990s have long since passed. The crowd was painfully Canadian. As Ange and I arrived, we were greeted by a crowd that was 99% Canadian and 1% Australian friends or flatmates of Canadians. A rather painful and embarrassing Canadian national anthem broke out between the warm-up band and the Hip. Hockey jerseys were worn by every 10th person. One idiot was wearing an "I 'maple leaf' Toronto" shirt. In the middle of central London, where fashion comes alive, the Astoria was a dead zone of jeans, t-shirts, hockey jerseys and suspiciously too many plaid lumberjack button-up shirts.

When the Hip came on though, there is nothing like a soulful version of Grace Too to throw you back 10 years. The guy beside us was too much, though. He was a stocky build. Probably mid-to-late-30s. I would wager money he spent a good deal of time in some rural prairie town. His proudest sporting achievement was almost certainly either playing back up guard in a high school football quarter final or a 5th place finish in a major street hockey tournament sponsored by a deodorant company.

He stood proudly in his Darcy Tucker Maples Leafs jersey. He held a lager in each hand (it was Carlsberg, though I imagine that he imagined it was Molson or Labatt). He swayed and sang every word. He punched the air emphatically at all the right moments in every song. When he was bumped, he apologised. He, in a very distressing sense, summed up the crowd. There was no moshing. It was all very civilized. So much so, that the event ended to a raucous applause at 10:30pm. And yet, we had such a good time. It was really enjoyable to see the Hip. They were excellent. And, on hearing that we were going, my sister joined us for the night. It was great to head out with her too.

The next day, there was no hang-over. No inexplicable bruises to your shoulders and face. Just an entirely pleasant evening with a slight sense of, "gosh, I'm getting older." But, just like the old days, my ears rang for days.