Weekends are for new experiences and uncharted territory or so we get told from the moment we pop out of wombs like Easter eggs. Having endured a Patrick Wolf show in Heaven last week the overwhelming sensation of the event was quite hellish. Decked out in some sort of dominatrix get-up, he cavorted and prowled, hands and knees before ripping categorically repulsive hair extensions out and launching them into the somewhat apprehensive, stereotypically passively aggressive London crowd. A sight to behold, yes. But in a truly damning sense.
Following a night in a curtainless hollow shell of an apartment in North London, I was hanging by a thread feeling as though my whole existence was in the hands of those three hags that share an eye and fool around precariously with scissors. If they've only got one eye between the three of them who'd give them each a pair of cutting implements? Without questioning mythology any further, I caught the National Express for the nth time in a month back to the forever-sodden West Country to get my hands on the results of an Italian grammar test. Shockingly, it went infinitely more successfully than expected so no dwelling required.
An hour later, I found myself in a yellow VW van heading, unbelievably, further westwards towards Minehead. Minehead in itself is a destination I'd never banked on reaching. But to head to Butlins, Minehead's another kettle of fish. I'd always viewed Butlins as the kind of resort that breeds monotony, where children would wish they were back in classrooms doing algebra or whatever they'd be pretending to study the week after half term whilst doodling dogs, trees and genitalia. There'd be unsavory articles of God-knows-what floating ominously round the 'Splash Zone'. Driving past Glastonbury resurrected memoirs of wonder played out in June so Somerset peaked the excitement scale of our voyage. Our chauffeur for the weekend was Alex I'd-facebook-add-him-if-only-I-knew-his-surmane. Down on my phonebook as Alex Bloc, he's an analogue VJ. Which apparently is like DJing but with visuals and DVDs. This weekend he was doing sets for Beardyman and Tim Exile (?!?!) amongst a host of other entirely alien nominal combinations. But he's a lovely chap and VJs as part of Fata Morgana and they're ace too. He stalks eBay buying old family videos from the 50s and 60s and then splices them together behind the perpetually dark, driving glitches of whoever he's paired up with for the day. It's all somewhere along the lines of a holiday camp. So it's ideal he's lined up a weekend of fun and frolics at a Butlins. Or so you'd think....
Patrick Wolf- Vulture
Patrick Wolf- Kriegspiel (Live at Heaven, 12/3/09)
Patrick Wolf- Oblivion (Live at Heaven)
Patrick Wolf- Who Will (Live at Heaven)