Flash Bang.

Seething, dear people! Seething!!

I was about to light an aged rocker the other night at work (the one where I'm a lighting technician with full creative license, not the one where I'm a slave to the customers' every want and need) and was told by one of their crew that I wasn't allowed to do this, or that, or even this, and not even a tiny bit of that. God no.

I love lighting, I love the set up, the co-ordination, the complete, unwavering, exhausting concentration and the technical stuff right down to the tiny details, but I cannot stand not being able to go wild with the lights (within reason, I wouldn't use lasers and strobe lights during a ballad or anything). My middle name is practically Flash-Bang, for God's sake.

[From LightingDesignOnline.com]

I had to stand there for four hours, flushing out the back of the stage with three colours in a cycle. No flashing drum-rise, no flooding out the venue with pink, purple and blue light, no filling the stage with a different colour from each side, pulsing to the music, just fading red, green and blue in the background whilst the front of the stage stayed white and boring. Hell, I didn't even get to use the smoke machine! The horror!

Muchos Grr.

Just wait until I get my pyrotechnics license and THEN they'll be sorry.

BOOM.

Wargh.

All my little programs at the bottom of the screen are in the wrong order. I AM SO CONFUSED.

Wargh! Ten days?! How did that happen?

.. I have been thinking of you. Little blog baby's readers. Whilst I sit here in my freezing little (council) house somewhere in Northern England, freezing my lady-balls off, I've been trying to come up with something vaguely interesting to blog about.

The result? Nil. Nix. Nada.

I just finished a three-day stint at one of the local venues. In the last three days I've lit twelve bands and have the scars to prove it. One hand has seized up because of an unfortunate incident with a can of baked beans and a faulty can opener and the other is cramping because of the lighting controls.

The first night? My hands were so cold I couldn't keep the buttons pressed down at the right times.

The second night? I found the solution:

Multicoloured woolly wrist warmers. Bliss.

The third night? The music was awesome, the coke was less watered down than usual, and my hands were toasty warm.

Cheers.