Vancouver, 14th October 2019

When I travelled to Toronto to see Morrissey in April, I wasn’t planning on returning to Canada, or even to embark on any more transatlantic flights this year. But as every ardent Morrissey fan knows, watching and waiting, and waiting and watching, is very hard. With the reality of an entire US tour plus further Canadian dates potentially passing me by, each show viewed as an opportunity lost, no immediate prospect along with a great deal of uncertainty regarding European dates, and the buzz of Toronto still screaming at me, I make it as far as June until I admit defeat, study the tour dates once more, and arrange my trip to Vancouver, attracted by the prospect of two shows in one desirable location.

Accordingly, an October Sunday sees me depart the grey skies of Yorkshire, to be greeted briefly by greyer skies in Iceland, and eventually reach the grey skies of Vancouver. I have finally made friends, and have the luxury of being picked up at the airport by a hire car full of Morrissey fans. It takes us a full 45 minutes to find each other, and I later hear that a subsequent airport pickup goes far more smoothly. Typical me. However, I am eventually deposited in the dark at my Airbnb, with my little wheely case and small rucksack, where I collapse in relief on the double bed and immediately give up all thoughts of re-emerging that night.

I awake at 1am local time which is most inconvenient, so I raid my rucksack for snacks, and manage to sleep some more, waking again at 5am from which time I wait patiently for it to become light outside. At 8am I emerge and walk two blocks west to find myself at a beach with a view south towards downtown, north towards West Vancouver and the outline of mountains beyond, and west across the water to Vancouver Island. Canada geese peck the grass around my feet, and a black squirrel runs down a tree and cocks its head at me. Hello Vancouver! Feeling highly delighted with it all, I join the Seawall path and do what I love doing  – I walk for miles, heading north into Stanley Park, and eventually returning to my room some six hours later, feeling that I really must save some energy for the show.

Heading early evening towards the downtown venue, into skyscrapers and traffic, I realise I have so far seen nothing of the actual city despite having now been here 24 hours. My first row ticket (I never get first row!) takes the edge off my pre-show anxiety, and I hover outside the venue, reunited with fellow fans I have met at previous shows, and introduced to several more. 

At 7pm the main doors open, and as was the case in Toronto, we now have a half hour wait inside for the auditorium doors to open. Each of the four doors display ranges of seat numbers above them indicating which we should use. Directed to a central door, I consider moving to the shorter looking line to my right, but recognising the handful of seasoned travellers currently in front of me, I decide I can depend upon them to move fast, and remain where I am. 

At last the doors open and in we run down the large steps towards the stage. The pace is a little slow for my liking, but there is no option to branch off to another aisle, and by the time I reach the stage there is precious little space left. A man who came down the aisle to my right reaches the stage just before me and spreads his arms out either side of him. “You can’t save spaces” I whinny, and persist in attempting to squeeze in between him and the on stage monitor, but he firmly holds me off with his elbow and shoulder. “If you don’t like it, tough shit.” he states. Great! It’s going to be a long night.

Standing with one arm on the monitor and the other on the stage, I call desperately over to a friend, who has grabbed a spot nearer to the centre, but he doesn’t hear me, and I know it is by now hopeless in any case. This here is my bed and I must lie.

I determine to make the best of the situation and turn to speak pleasantly to Mr Aggressive’s friend who has arrived on his right sporting a fast developing bruise on her arm, having somehow fallen upon the opening of the auditorium doors. She seems unaware of her friend’s earlier antics and responds with friendliness, although Mr Aggressive remains ominously sullen and silent.

On my left is a young lady who we soon ascertain lives in the same neighbourhood of Seattle that I lived in for a few years, back in the late nineties. I am struck by the coincidence, but she apparently is not, although she is friendly enough when I insist on talking to her. We chat on and off until a security guy arrives and informs us that we must all move to the right to make way for another security guy who must stand against the stage during the show. Needless to say, there is more than a little reluctance on anyone’s part to move anywhere, but eventually Mr Aggressive grudgingly moves a few inches to the right, which has the happy result of freeing me from the encumbrance of the monitor, and enabling me to put both arms on the stage in what I consider to be my rightful place.

I catch the eye of a friend standing further along the stage and wave excitedly. Her response indicates that she is not happy, but at this stage I have no idea why.

The remaining hour now passes quickly enough, a relatively insignificant amount of time compared to the two and a half hour waits endured during last year’s UK tour, and once again my heart is in my mouth as Lypsinka appears on the screen. Toronto and Vancouver are the only times I have seen Morrissey at a smaller venue such as this, with no barrier, something that doesn’t seem to exist in the UK, where I have become accustomed to a seemingly mile wide distance from a barrier to a mile high stage, and I am transported into a world of delight when Morrissey appears in such proximity, a world I find impossible to describe. He walks along the stage with his microphone and stands towering, less than an arm’s length in front of us, and I am completely in awe. I have travelled over four and a half thousand miles to stand in this spot, right here, right now, and every mile has been worth it.

When the show ends it takes me some time to make my way through the crowds towards the exit, and I can’t see any of my friends, but as I had hoped, I spot one of them when I reach the lobby. However, when I approach, all post-show smiles, I find he is deep in discussion with a member of the venue staff, expressing his frustration at having been moved out of his front row spot for the entire show in order to make way for a security guard. He is in no mood for socialising, so after offering a quick hug I continue outside only to find further carnage on the streets of Vancouver. It seems I have remained happily oblivious to various altercations at the front between security and other audience members, now summarised for me in an angry rant from one of my friends, and high emotions now demonstrated by further altercations which I fear will lead to a full on street brawl. Honey Pie you’re not safe here.

I am eventually able to filter out some happier people, including my Japanese friend who I had first met in Dublin, and a lady from Philadelphia area who I recognise, and who recognises me after some prompting, from social media circles. We make our way to the safety of The Morrissey Pub (of course), stopping to admire the window display in a record store along the way.

Later, when I eventually start walking back to my room through the now quiet night-time streets, a man crosses the road towards me, points, and tells me with some urgency, “There’s a skunk right there if you’re headed that way”. At first I think this must be a derogatory term for a homeless person or drug addict, but quickly realise that he means an actual skunk! I’ve never seen a skunk before, there are none in the UK, and I am tempted to go and have a look, but taking my cue from the man’s manner, and hearing him warn another pedestrian, I decide this must be a bad idea, and take another route.

Despite my exhaustion I am only able to manage a 4 hour block of sleep, the 8 hour time difference playing its games, and I awake to find a message from an absent friend asking how the show was. I tell her about the post show drama, and the problems that were relayed to me, and am informed that this is all quite normal. The sanest days are mad.