“i want one more minute of your time to explain something, which is the reason why i want us to all sing this song together. now i know what you’re thinking. you’re thinking, it’s “fucking obvious mate, it’s because it strokes your fragile pathetic ego, that’s fucking why.” and you know what, it’s true. it does. it also makes my mum think i have a real job. but that’s not the reason either. here’s the real reason. if every single person in this room — including the old school die-hards, the curious parties, the plus ones, the bartenders, the security guards, the guest-lists, the people on the balcony, the boys, the girls, the people down the front, the people at the back — sings along to this song at the same time, then together we’re going to do something interesting. we’re going to perform a magic trick. and here’s what the magic trick is. we’re going to transform what we’re doing in this room tonight, and it’s going to change from being about five good-looking sharply dressed young men and four very beautiful young ladies making noise at you for an hour and a half, it’s going to cease to be that. and it’s going to become something totally fucking different, which is a room full of people who are fucking equals, who are doing something together, on a fucking level, without a fucking barrier, something transcendent, and something that lifts us up out of the modern day bullshit we all put up with everyday. and that’s what music is supposed to do. so people of manchester, are you fucking ready?”— Frank Turner
To all my family and friends who think I am nutz.
Dear Family and Friends,
I have finally found a group of like-minded people to be friends with. They understand my obsession with Frank Turner, Tim Minchin, Eddie Izzard, concerts, reason, England, music, and furtive little feelings. They don’t judge and are awfully nice. The fact that I am a 55-year-old grandmother of 3, don’t believe in a god, still go to college and work in a grocery store does not seem to be a problem for them. I may be 55 in human years, but I am only 25 in Cathy years. Thank you “Dear Frank Turner” family.
Cathy aka Grandma Fluffy
P.S. Frank actually put the FTHC on my arm with the promise I would not have it tattooed. But I didn’t wash that arm for a week. It finally rubbed off. Thank Dog for photographs.