Lover, come back to me

My goodness, what a busy week, including a trip to Notting Hill and a wobbly cycle around the Manchester Velodrome. On Friday night, my friend Matt offered up his plus one to watch Julian Cope at the Carling Academy. There was apparently a loose theme to do with Eric's (a long-lost venue of Liverpool legend) to promote a new show at Liverpool Everyman. I was tired, but the lure of a plus one is too great, so I scraped on a layer of mascara and threw on my favourite dress.
The Academy is always dimly lit (they've standardised everything else in all of their venues, is the lighting policy the same?), so I could get away with hiding in a corner like a ghost. A ghost drinking Carling, obviously. Doors opened at 7.30pm and we arrived at 9pm, assuming we'd already missed Pete Burns in the support slot. But, as you can see from the crappy snap at left, we had not.
Pete Burns didn't make it onto the stage until 10pm. A lot of people in the room looked like they were paying babysitters by the hour, and they were getting restless. It was the first time I've been to a gig where the crowd are booing before the band has made it on stage. But this was no mere band. It was glamourpuss Pete Burns. Celebrity Big Brother AND Celebrity Wife Swap alumni Pete Burns. He's not a man who'd be happy with a Subway foot long and bowl of chips before going on stage at 8pm. Oh no. Pete Burns is an exquisite creature who requires fine dining and a chaise longue before performing. Some people might think that three songs is not enough for a set, but when you're Pete Burns and people have paid £20, it's plenty. They should count themselves lucky to be basking in your presence for a mere £20. He introduced 'You Spin Me Round' as 'the song that took me out of Liverpool... thank god'. Yes, that's the attitude Pete! You tell the people of Liverpool that their city is shite, as if it's still the Eighties. He also told the chosen few witnessing his performance that he was 'just going through the motions', and in a glisten of black sequins was gone.
The really frustrating thing? He can sing! He has a certain stage presence! If he weren't such a whinging diva he could have had a proper music career!
Julian Cope soon appeared, topless, wielding an acoustic guitar. The Copeheads in the room seemed very happy to see him, but to me he looked like a man at an open mic night about to launch into a rant against chip and pin or unfair bank charges. I decided to head homewards after a few songs. Sorry, Julian. (Not that he cares.)