Death From Above 1979

Err, so, yeah.

I suppose I should try and formulate words that represent the emotional state I have found myself in with the recent announcement of Death From Above 1979 reformation. Elation. Terrifying joy. Ecstasy.

You have to have the full story.

I considered selling anything and everything to get to Coachella. Which is in America. And I don't do leaving the country. I'm not sure in the use of my passport. But I seriously considered it. But the fact it would have cost oh-so-very-much money stopped the far-fetched dream before it had begun. But at least they were back together. I had a serious conversation with The Boy in which I laid my intentions bare and told him if they came to the UK I would ensure categorically that we would be going.

And then! They only went and announced dates in bloody London! LONDON! Hyperventilation was inevitable. I calmed myself and spread the word.

Ticket sale day meant I was up and ready to get tickets. Which I did. I was lucky. As that stupid, idiotic, bastarding SeeTickets is a useless website and they tell lies. Within half an hour I had spent my months wages on tickets, travel and accommodation. I was poor. But poorer than normal. I had £34 to last me two and a half weeks and I spent £20 a week just on travel! But I have never been happier to be poor.

So that is it. I'm going to see Death From A-fucking-bove 1979. And it means that one of the bands I never got to see, have reunited and I will get to see. Just one biggy remains. Can you guess?