This man hates me.
Many, many years ago I was much cooler than I am now and had pink hair and a nose ring and wore corsets and short faux fur skirts with ripped fishnets and big boots and hung out with Boys In Bands.
Hard to believe isn’t it?
Anyway, on one momentous occasion in 2002, I was turned up at Rock City in Nottingham after one of their gigs and was accosted on the dance floor by the very lovely Trev Ghost who said something along the lines of: ‘Ooh, Melanie, there’s someone who wants to meet you! Come with me!’
Reader, I followed him downstairs and was led to a very small man with too much eyeliner and a glittery scarf. Now, before I proceed, I would like to say in my defence that it was VERY NOISY downstairs in Rock City and that any blame for what happened next should be placed at the feet of the management and not me.
‘Melanie, this is Billy,’ yelled Trev. ‘He’s in a band.’
That’s what I thought he said.
I turned to Billy and we smiled at each other. ‘Hi, Billy! What band are you in?’
‘I’m HIM,’ said Billy, the smile beginning to drain away.
‘There, there Billy, it’s okay. What band are you in again?’ I encouraged him, thinking he must be in some awful pub band that he didn’t want to name.
‘HIM. I AM HIM. I AM IN HIM.’ Billy started shouting and it was at this point that the penny dropped. ‘HIM. HIM. HIM.’
‘Oh dear, Mr Billy, I am terribly sorry. I’m afraid that I didn’t know who you are!’
‘Don’t worry,’ he sneered in a very rock star way. It was quite impressive if you like that sort of thing. ‘I wouldn’t expect someone like you to know who I was anyway.’
I ought to have made my escape at this point, only, it was too late for we were surrounded on all sides by pudgy teenaged girls with cameras who insisted on taking dozens of photos of us standing together looking cross. Feeling mortified and rather out of place, I turned to him and asked for a light for my non existant cigarette.
Darlings, if looks could kill.