Skippy

I got the tickets to go and see Orbital from the partner of an ex-colleague, an older fella who now worked for an events company in Edinburgh, but in his younger days had lived in Australia and was one of the writers on Skippy. Yep, the bush kangaroo himsen. I couldn't make that up if I tried could I. Richie Hawtin was the warm-up and he just stood there impassively at the front of the stage, Edinburgh castle in all its splendour behind him, playing a few records to a sparse and overwhelmingly disinterested crowd at 7.30pm on an August night, not even nearly dark. It was kind of rubbish. But not really his fault. Orbital were OK, I can't say I loved it. They played some tunes, they had those little lights on their glasses, there may have been some lasers. I found out later that some pals of mine had been there and though it was amazing. But they were all on drugs they said. Not me. I had work in the morning at the film festival. Sober. Straight. Eminently responsible. 1999? 2000? Summat like that.

Chime