Avatar Blurrd 2: Return of the Killer Blurrd

Back in June, me and a bunch of cronies travelled hundreds of miles out of our way to go see Queens of the Stone Age at Cardiff Castle. A week and a half ago, we drove as far as Stockton-on-Tees to see them again.

Stockton is not usually known for its music venues (at least as far as my limited knowledge of the place goes) so the fact that the band chose this over the arena in Newcastle, the Sage in Gateshead, hell, even the Stadium of Light in Sunderland is baffling. The Globe in Stockton was so small we could barely get into the room; the closest we could get to the stage was the very rear by the doors. It felt like more than 3000 people were there, the supposed capacity of the place.

I bought three bottles of water and stood in line at the bar for half an hour. A lady got annoyed because, after going through the security checks, her umbrella was confiscated.

in time honoured fashion, I took several photos from the back of the room and most of them were blurry. Here is my most blurred effort:

I am very proud of my efforts and think I should take up photography immediately.

5 comments on “Blurrd 2: Return of the Killer Blurrd

  • What tremendous memories this picture will conjure when you look back upon it years from now. I’m particularly impressed that you managed to capture the exact moment the band was struck simultaneously by three identical bolts of lightning.

  • Stockton-on-Tees is well known for it’s love of lightning.

    I get a little tear in the corner of my eye looking at it now. In twenty years I’ll be gushing like a heron.

  • If I’m honest this came very close to tipping me into a state of heron-like overflow. But then I remembered that I am British, and I maintained my stiff upper lip, whatever that is, and now I’m attempting to claim a small far-flung nation for the Empire.

    And it’s all thanks to Queens of the Stone Age.

  • Better you than me. My country-stealing days are over. I haven’t crossed a border with my hands greasily clutching a flag since the days of Zyrusizia (bad spelling possibly). Did you wear a fake moustache when you were doing it?

  • You don’t know what you’re missing. I never feel more alive than when I’m sticking a gold-fringed flag into the ground on some small island somewhere while firing a musket indiscriminately at the locals. It’s a real buzz. 10/10 recommended.

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