preston park museum

So I’ve been away for a few days up North and it’s been beautiful and weird.
The ‘beautiful’ was Friday, when I traveled up North to go and see Keaton Henson. I got up far too early considering it was the first day off work I’d had in a while, but a sleepy start to my journey was soon brightened up when India joined the train, followed by Tim. The journey wasn’t the best, as we ended up being stuck in the Yorkshire countryside for two hours and my seat was cruelly stolen by Tim, who decided to either sit in my seat or use India and I as a seat. But, give him his dues, he did actually give India and I the Keaton Henson tickets as a present, so he could take liberties. (Thanks by the way, Tim, you’re swell).

After a very rainy and cold journey to the museum (a Keaton pathetic fallacy at it’s finest) we arrived unintentionally far too early, only to see the man himself having a cigarette outside. Normally in a situation like that, it would have been easy to go and talk to the artist before, but being as we could see him edging further away from us, clearly not wanting to talk to anyone, we decided to leave him to his nerves.

The venue itself was absolutely stunning, inside and out. It overlooked a huge park that was completely empty at the time of the gig, had a beautiful conservatory full of plants and inside had wooden panels on the walls, grand fireplaces and chandeliers. So as we sat down in the front row, with home made cupcakes in hand, opposite the stage with fairy lights hung on it, I was extremely excited.

As you can expect, the gig was beautiful and I had my heart in my mouth and tears in my eyes for the majority of it. It was very apparent from his brief and quiet introductions of songs and the way that he was awkwardly sat reading his own lyrics that the whole thing was difficult for Keaton to do, so I was really appreciative that I got to witness it.
The new songs that he played were so wonderful, and the addition of a cello (the player of which was so close that we could hear him sighing as he played) made things ten times more emotional, and made me shed a tear in You Don’t Know How Lucky You Are.

All in all I felt incredibly lucky to have been there, and can’t wait to see him again at Rough Trade at the end of the month. I don’t really know why I’ve written a novel about it, but I wouldn’t want to forget about something as lovely as that.