Kraftwerk

I went to see Kraftwerk last night. Like most men over the age of 41, they are my favourite band and I can bore people senseless with talk of how they are the foundation for contemporary music in its entirety. All of which misses the most jodrellworthy element of these Teutonic Wundergartens. They are big into cycling. The gig crowd attire was equal parts Kraftwerk t-shirts and cycling garments.

At one point a group of men entered the hall. They were rocking the fancy dress album cover look from the Man Machine. You’ll know the one; men in ties, red shirts, slim, unblemished, synchronous. They had it down.

There was a lady with them with the same outfit. She may or may not of been one of two ladies known to be present at the gig. They seemed to be several steps ahead of her at various points.

It was a warm evening, but things got way hotter once they started showing the 3D bike montage along with Aerodynamik and Tour De France. In fact, when they stuck up a line-drawing of echelons I pretty much lost myself. There’s a slightly more salacious way of putting it, but I’m unsure of the moral stance of the three readers of this blog so will leave it to your imagination.

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Belle succinctly hypothesises my reaction to kraftwerk echelon bongo cycling action
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Mein Gott, Kraftwerk mit das echelons. DAS IST SEHR EROTISCH. KRANKENSCHWESTER! 

It was a great concert. It felt good to be seeing Kraftwerk in Bristol, in addition to seeing them at all. I feel like it’s one less thing for me to do in the time remaining. I had planned on getting up to do a 100 this morning, but having seen the startsheet noticed something I’d hitherto ignored; it required a 4.30am wake-up call, otherwise known as “Fuck that o’ clock”. Ergo, I went mountain biking instead and fell off in fifty-acre wood. It was fun. Neil Blessitt passed comment on my bike. He said it was ‘old but nice’ and laughed at the cassette (it’s very small).

I felt out of place, in the deep dark wood. I wore my best DHB top and some baggy shorts from Marks and Spencer, so that I might fit in with the other men over the age of 41 on their over-engineered ego-chariots. Although after a lap of yer tiz and one of fifty acre wood, I felt very much as though my bike was under-engineered. I came off once. One second i was upright, the next i was tangled up in brambles and ragwort. I’m not sure what happened inbetween, but i suspect it was the stones. There were big chunks of stone and tree-roots everywhere. I found myself wishing the trails were somehow smoother, rolled out. More like a road, in fact.

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The wood is dark and full of terrors. 

 

 

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