Well – not really a bouncer, an usher. (Or in fact, an usherette; I love the feminine add-ons in words, how the feel and taste and weight of the word changes. Being an usherette sounds neat, uniformed, tidy and simultaneously kinky in an olde-worlde sort of way. I don't know whether I'll be hated by feminists for admitting that I think there is something sexy and dainty about feminising a word. Probably. Also note, cigarette: the female cigar.)
OK, so I was an usherette at a Beatles concert. Well – not a *real* Beatles concert of course. The Beatles split up when I was two or three, and John and George are dead. What I usheretted was – wait for it –
The Volcano Festival Chorus with David Mattson, piano, and Dave Seawater's Coconut Wireless, performing music by The Beatles.
I got free entry, a box of raisins, and a black T-shirt that says The Beatles on the front and Volcano Festival Chorus on the back. There are far reaches of quirky kooky eccentricity that can only really be experienced in Hawai'i or possibly rural West Wales. In my experience.
I mean, "Dave Seawater's Coconut Wireless." You just couldn't make up something like that.
© 2006 Anna MR
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