Making It Up as I Go Along by Marian Keyes

Author:Marian Keyes
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780718182526
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Robert Plant

Right! Himself! Well, for years and years and years and years, since he was aged about twelve, he has been in wild bromantic love with Robert Plant. He adored him in Led Zeppelin and in more recent decades has been a fan of Mr Plant’s other groups and collaborations.

I, too, have been a big fan of Mr Plant’s. When I was fifteen, I had a boyfriend with excellent taste in music. Actually, it was his older brother who had the excellent taste in music and even though the older brother hated me (it’s grand, all grand, I hated him too, it was fine) he let us listen to his records. (Yes, actual vinyl records.)

And many of those excellent records were by Led Zeppelin, so I was well versed in their ‘oeuvre’ by the time I met Himself and it was one of the reasons that convinced him that I was the perfect woman. (At this point I must add a caveat and say that George Michael is my actual all-time favourite music-type person.)

Over the years, I’ve been to Robert Plant gigs. There was one night, many years ago, when Robert (you’ll have noticed I’m now referring to him as ‘Robert’ as if we are friends …? Yes, well, pay heed) … yes, there was one night when Robert was coming to Dublin to do a gig and I couldn’t go because I was down the town learning how to make beef casserole. And when Himself came home (it was late), I woke up to ask him how it had gone and he said, all dreamy and star-struck, ‘He was a golden rock god …’ And I couldn’t get a word of sense out of him for several subsequent days.

When Led Zeppelin reformed for that one gig in 2007, we paid a large sum of money to a charity for tickets. And in more recent years we’ve seen Robert with Alison Krauss (twice) and with the Band of Joy. So we are TRUE BELIEVERS.

Right. Having established these facts, can I fill you in on some more stuff, basically about my day-to-day life. See, you might think that I live a high-octane life of extreme glamour, but I really don’t. I eke out a small, local existence in a suburb that is partly pleasant and partly unpleasant. (It is on the sea (pleasant) and they welcome you to the neighbourhood by burgling your house (unpleasant). Do you see? Pleasant and unpleasant. Yin and yang.)

And the people I cross paths with are not fabby famous types but the likes of my mammy, the Redzers, Posh Kate and Posh Malcolm, Steve from DHL, Mary and Owen from round the corner, Fuzzy Mahon, Lovely Judy, Nawel from the second-hand furniture shop, and occasionally Tom Dunne, but only when I’m down the town and looking spectacularly dreadful.

I’m very happy with my set-up. But the odd time, I leave my pleasant/unpleasant suburb and am thrust into a situation that is extremely glamorous and sometimes during these glamorous events I meet people who are very nice; and that happened to me recently.

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