Dear NPL attendee,
I hope that you enjoyed last Friday's National Pop League. There certainly was much to enjoy—the particularly choice Belle & Sebastian tunes (The Loneliness of a Middle-Distance Runner being my personal favourite), not to mention the high point for me: Neighbourhood #3: Power Out by The Arcade Fire.
The Arcade Fire. Everyone's new favourite band, and a neat segue into my next point. The Woody certainly gets warm, doesn't it? Of course, this is common knowledge: why else would they install huge industrial fans on the dance floor? Surely it's not so that my shirt-tails rise up coquettishly each time I pass the, though this is an undeniable fringe benefit. And I know that you know this, for why else would you have stood in front of said fan all night?
Three things I noticed:
- You didn't dance at all. In fact you stood perfectly still in front of the fan, not even moving side-to-side in order to grant beautfiul cool air to us manic dancers. (But perhaps inside you is a passion so great that it causes you to perspire—who can say?)
- Despite wanting to cool down, you appeared to be wearing a jacket over your buttoned-up shirt. I, however, had unbuttoned my shirt so far that not a little manly-chest-brillo was exposed. One gentleman went topless.
- You chain-smoked cigarettes, throughout the night. Probably in an attempt to seem more interesting.
These three facts puzzle me as to why you should need the whole fan, the whole time. If you never dance, why should you be hotter, for example, than me, a particularly spastic dancer? As a last resort, you could consider removing that heavy suit jacket, embrace the smart-casual look—I did!
But, most of all, if you're feeling too hot in all the hustle and bustle, perhaps you could stop setting the sticks of tobacco in your mouth on fucking fire.
I hope you find this chat productive.
Hugs,
Derek x.
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