Experiencing the London Summer: alcohol, a massive Greenday gig, and and old friend

Day 2. Green days in the Milton Valley

Did I say already that I'm not a big fan of the pop punk rock group called the Greenday? Surely I did. I like to remember that I watched few gigs before because they used to be the cheapest options 10 years ago. With a 45 minutes gig, they were still a good value.
Now is 2005 though. Greenday are cool again. If in the mid nineties their crowd was composed of many wannabe punk (ehi guys, punk is not dead. Punk was never born), now the crowd is something more of a man with a Lolita syndrome wet dream: young girls dressed to kill, and young kids with young families and young - very young - mums.

I have to admit that American Idiot is a great album, compared to the previous ones. At least I kept playing few songs (the singles) in my ipod for a long time. Plus, I discovered I still remembered few of the good old songs, so I guess I was ready to get up in the morning with an hangover, jump on a train without condition system in the hottest day of the year, arrive somewhere up north in a place called Milton Keynes, and walk with an injured leg 1 hour to get to the stadium, just in time to sit down and relax under a Saharan sun without water and with few bananas ready to wait 6 hours to see the main act.
Thank God I bought some Sunday newspaper. Australia lost again at cricket by the way. Ah ah ah.

The National Bowl was soon full. Many youngsters with energy to spare (I'm too old) approached the "surfing" area and waited hours in the hot sun, without water and standing up just to be closer to the action. God bless them.
I spent my time chilling and sleeping on the grass, or reading the papers.
After the usual mix of bands opening the event (Hard-Fi, Taking Back Sunday and Jimmy Eat World), finally the Greenday started their 1 hours and an half, maybe even 2 hours of concert.
It was good. Great energy, great feedback from the crowd, and, after 10 years, I must say they are really improved live. They interact with people, they're funny enough, they're crude and gross in an insane way (Billy Jo, the singer, simulated a masturbation act on the stage, with the massive screens zooming on his hands inside his pants. 12 years old girls screaming in adoration, 12 years old kids screaming, dads and mums shocked). They sang the whole album, plus many old hits like basket case or time of your life (no, not the Dirty Dancing song) and after some nice spectacular fireworks they were gone, leaving the huge crowd tired but happy.

The return trip went smoothly and after only few hours I was dreaming and sleeping in my great bed. Giamba left last morning, but I was already working. You know, life goes on. And there is Wimbledon now.

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