Pulp non-fiction

Last night, I lived out a dream that began 16 years ago. When I was 19 years old, the Britpop explosion happened and I used to spend my Saturday nights dancing away at Britpop events. Fairly sad nightclubs with awesome music. It was so, so much fun. My mate at the time and I were there almost every weekend. Funnily enough, Skip was there too was mutual friends but we never crossed paths. Then during the week I'd go to my friend's place and smoke cigarettes and listen to Blur, Supergrass, Oasis, Elastica and, of course, Pulp to the early hours. We'd talk about if Blur were in fact smurfs disguised as humans and I advised him on transforming his blonde ponytail into the right Jarvis mop.

Back in the day when Pulp toured, I was out of the country so missed it. I thought I'd catch them next time. I didn't realise that next time would be when I was 35 and pregnant with my third child!

Over the past years, I've still held a torch for Jarvis and co. Whenever Skip wants to get me in a party mood, he throws on the album Different Class and says I instantly begin to strut like I'm Mick Jagger. Over the years, we've had many a Pulp 'concert' at home and they've been brilliant.

Last night, with a gut out to here and a nasty head cold, I wasn't even sure I was going to make Pulp this time round. But make it I did. I even danced despite the punters who kept bumping into my bump. I don't think I got a strut out, but I definitely bopped and I definitely enjoyed every. single. moment. For a brief moment when Jarvis took the stage and Common People was blaring, I was that 19 year old again, dancing carelessly on a Saturday night.

It was well worth the wait.