Big Ugly Story Starters

Ian McCulloch and Johnny Marr

It sure is spacious here, and I've been walking around for quite a while on my own, taking in the sight of some beautiful topiaries, families with children enjoying ice cream in the sun or sitting in golf carts, colourful pavements, and quaint water fountains scattered around.

It's very clean and sterile and I'm forgetting I'm on festival grounds because there's no tents or mud and everything is so orderly. I haven't even been bitten by any bugs yet. The news didn't say anything about rain as of yet. I'm feeling lucky.

I don't make my presence known when I get where I wanted to be, I just sit around and wait for him to notice me. I got here by accident, I tell myself. It's not like I haven't slept the night before. It's not like I got here to get it over with because knowing he's here distracts me a lot, and I rather take a chance with him, than let it pass without us acknowledging each other. No, I've come here to listen to him play without saying a word of acknowledgement, as if it were the most natural thing to do.

The band is rehearsing with their backs to where I'm sitting, with unmistakable sounds coming from the amps. There's only one who plays like him.

He's singing, and I don't recall I've heard much of his singing voice before. It's actually quite pleasant, and I can tell his heart is in the right place and whle I know he didn't start out a singer, his deliverence is expressive, if a bit subtle, on songs both old and new. They've all got that distinct Mancunian tinge that I love, even though I always made fun of it in front of him.

He finishes and gives away the guitar to one of his roadies, about to take on a new one, and that's when he turns around and sees me. I'm glad I don't give much out as I look back at him. I wave briefly.

"McCulloch," he observes cheerfully.

"Marr," I echo him.

"Where's Will?" He asks. Funny question. I don't think Johnny understands what's going on, or why I'm here. It's got fuck all to do with Will. I don't reckon he's ever met Will, so why would he want to know? Maybe there's something else to it, but I shrug it off.

"He's doing soundcheck," I say. not that I've seen him for the past half an hour or so, but it makes sense. The lads were tuning up when I last saw them, that's when I dodged them. There weren't any questions being asked, but I bet that if Will had taken a couple of seconds to think about it, he would've figured it out.

"Shouldn't you be soundchecking too now?" He asks.

"I'm on a break," I tell him, running thin of an excusable alibi.

"Well, I'm kind of busy. You can stay here if you want, or you could go back to your band."

He's beginning to acknowledge the fact I want to stick around, I'm seeing the glass half full.

I nod my agreement and mumble a few words to confirm I'm not going. After all, I have plans - which he doesn't know about, but they involve him.