AV, DF, TT and me

First, a public service announcement. Then a review of the gig I went to last night.

It has been announced that the referendum on voting systems in the UK is being held on 5th May 2011. The Faithful will recall that the main reason I voted Lib Dem at last year's General Election was that I believed that was the best shot we had of getting parliamentary reform. The AV system is not flawless, but I still believe that it is substantially fairer than the existing first past the post (FPTP) way of deciding who leads us. Prominent people have been campaigning for an overhaul of this system for years - check out this video of John Cleese fighting for it over two decades ago:



Sorry if this is patronising, but in case you haven't made up your mind:

I passionately believe that, without a fair, representative voting system, we do not really live in a true democracy, and the lack of engagement among young voters in particular will just get worse. At the moment, over two thirds of MPs are elected when most of their constituents have voted against them. The majority of people in this country are represented in parliament by an MP they did not vote for. Is that fair? Is that democratic? No.

Another problem with the existing FPTP set-up is that a lot of constituencies become 'safe seats', and in these areas, MPs simply don't have to work very hard to get your vote. It's only in the swing constituencies that votes really count, so it's only there that MPs put the effort in to attract votes. Is that fair? No.

There are several weeks between now and the AV referendum on 5th May. I don't want to be too boring about it, but I hope that all my Faithful who are eligible to vote in the UK will vote in favour of the referendum. Whether you're right, left or loony, this is a vote that will make politics more representative for all of us. There are Old Guard members of all three major parties who are scared of it - they fear change and are right to be scared: AV will shake things up - and the electorate will benefit. Whatever your affiliations, it is clear for all to see that the current state of affairs is fundamentally, systemically unfair. Vote for a system upgrade - you deserve it.

That concludes the public service announcement. And now, back to our regular programme of whining and tomfoolery.

Last night I went to a gig at the Barbican - Teddy Thompson, supported by David Ford. I've liked David for several years, and had the rare pleasure of walking into the Barbican gift shop last night to help Grania buy one of his CDs in the interval and asking another customer in my crisp private school English, 'Is that the album with Cheer Up, You Miserable Fuck on it?' His gig was fantastic - heavy use of the loop sampler allowed him to show off his talents on acoustic and lead guitar, piano, harmonica, percussion and vocals, and although at times he was a bit cringingly cod-American during his inter-song banter and the removal of his porkpie hat and subsequent angsty head-stroking felt slightly Chris Martin contrived, his performance was energetic, well-balanced and well-rehearsed, the breadth of his musical talent was clear for all to see, and his voice was confident and emotive. He is clearly an intelligent, wry, funny man and I am more of a fan than I was this time yesterday, so he's doing something right.

Then on came Teddy Thompson, stage right. Oh dear. The first and last time I'd seen him previously was also at the Barbican, for the exceptional Nick Drake tribute concert I went to a year ago. He sang on a couple of numbers and I liked his voice. When I saw that David Ford was supporting him, I took that as a positive endorsement of the rest of his oeuvre. Error. What I saw was a set of drab, disappointing country songs with undiscernable vocals, predictable harmonies and a drummer who could have been replaced by a 1980s Fisher Price keyboard. After two thoroughly conventional tracks, both of which left me weeping for Rufus Wainwright, my mind drifted into a favourite bad gig pastime: working out who the band resemble. It turned out we had Michael Stipe on guitar, Danny Boyle on drums, that lady from Episodes and Green Wing on violin and backing vocals, Osama Bin Laden on bass and Ryan Stiles on lead. The girl particularly offended me, but I'm aware I was being very oversensitive yesterday. She was wearing a cropped, fitted black leather jacket, a black pencil skirt, black opaque tights and ankle boots. From Row B of the balcony, she looked like a Foxton's estate agent. Her violin playing was as subtle as a fat kid at ballet, thumpingly behind the beat throughout, reaching a climax in a song that reminded me of a lazy version of Sting's Desert Rose. The loyal audience had remained polite throughout David Ford's set but lapped up every ounce of Teddy's output, whooping, hollering, laughing and taking photos. Grania and I got restless, started chatting and then left before we got too rude - the first time since The Longpigs supported U2 on the Zoo Tour at Wembley Stadium that I have preferred the support to the main event.

Instead of tutting at Teddy, we went and sat outside in the foyer, worked on Grania's CV and took photographs of ourselves gooning in the empty reception space. I looked for all the world like a young lady fully sure of myself and where I'm going in life, so it's odd that a few hours earlier I was wondering what type of lobotomy it might take to make me stop crying. During the morning, I'd seen a photograph of a girlfriend on Facebook - she is tall and gorgeous, and was standing in shallow sea on some sort of Greek island paradise holiday, looking out to the horizon, brown back, brown slim legs, tiny purple bikini bottoms. And there, at my desk, I started to cry with jealousy at how different my life would have been if I'd felt attractive all these years, rather than blighted by cellulite and fat. Then, on the way to therapy, I saw a photo of a beautiful model in an ad on a bus, and I started crying again. And I know it's ridiculous: it's not as though I'm some sort of gargoyle. So I asked my therapist why, if I'm so convinced that I'd be happier if I was thin that I actually cry with envy at others who are lucky enough to be slim, am I not anorexic - or at least on a permanent diet. And she suggested that it's because I know that deep down it wouldn't make any difference if I was thinner, and that I know that I'm not really that ugly - that it's all just a cover for the real shit, a scapegoat. That was interesting. Our whole session was fascinating, actually. In between sobs of PMT-induced self-pity, I unlocked a major truth about the skewed way I see things. God only knows I've felt like I'm en route to a new me for the past few weeks and months, and it's not a great deal of fun reaching what I thought was a summit and realising it was a foothill. But there's no doubt that I'm making progress.

I'd dearly love to be one of those carefree people, like those well-meaning friends of mine who say 'You're over-thinking this, Jane,' not realising that it makes me want to throw my stapler at their head. In the same way that saying 'Calm down' to someone who thinks they've lost their passport at Stansted doesn't do much to lower their blood pressure, telling me to stop thinking so much doesn't tend to elicit the response, "Oh, OK then, thanks." I don't sit here all day, staring into space, deliberately trying to complicate things. It just happens. I know some people just concentrate on the project in front of them until 5 o'clock and then go out and get pissed with their friends. I hope they know how lucky they are. I sit here doing five different things at work, and still, bubbling away underneath, is the feeling that I should be doing something else, or at least doing what I'm doing but differently. The volume of the Greek chorus has definitely quietened over the past few weeks and months, and I don't beat myself up nearly so much as I used to. I know, Big Picture, how lucky I am. But stuff's been so dark and bad recently that I haven't really been able to vocalise it to anyone else, which for a compulsive truth-teller such as myself has been odd. Anyway. Here's hoping I make it through.

In the meantime, I'll distract myself by playing the ukulele, going to gigs and getting worked up about the AV referendum. Bear with me.