Ok. I’m sorry, I know I’ve blogged like every single day this week but I can’t help that I love y’all so much and really, blogging is the only therapy I get from having to manage the abundance of crazy thoughts that are happily swizzling through my brain.
Actually, I just want someone to talk to and considering at work I sit between a window and an empty desk, well, you my friends who live in my laptop, tagged – you’re it. I’m talking to you.
And honey, we’re talking Bon Jovi.
It’s been 15 long years since I’d seen my man, Jon Bon Jovi, in action. Back then I was a horny teenager youthful and energetic girl and screamed and yelled and cried and came damn near to throwning my panties on stage. Now? Well now I’m a horny adult mature and contained adult and I screamed and yelled and cried and totally threw a virtual bra on stage.
Yes, clearly I’ve changed a lot.
So last night saw me squish onto the Jubilee Line with hundreds of other Bon Jovi fans (surprisingly many a tough trucker looking bloke – bizarre?) which hurtled us towards the O2 and (almost) into the arms the one and only JBJ. I think I bought these tickets about three millenia ago, or at least it certain feels that way, and have been aching every day since to have JBJ croon his ballads to me. Wait, what do you mean he’s not singing them to me? Of course he is.
After a dinner at Gaucho, which Panu and I have declared our farewell dinner to Gaucho, because erm, never going there again, we shuffled into the O2 arena and urgh, my seats were like totally shite, JBJ was but a (hot and sexy) speck but you know what? Whatever. I’m in the same room as my love (and Panu was there too) and that was all that mattered.
He played everything from 1984’s Runaway to the new hits from their current album, The Circle. There was the obligatory Dead or Alive, Lay Your Hands On Me, Bad Medicine and beautifully slow Someday I’ll be Saturday Night and when he sang Bed of Roses (to me) I swear to you a piece of my heart broke off and floated across the masses of swaying bodies and smacked right into his sweaty chest.
The 2.5 hour concert felt like 10 minutes and before I knew it, they’d wrapped up, we’d stomped and stomped and demanded a encore, they came back and JBJ broke off another piece of my heart with Always, and then he was gone. And although he didn’t sing my favourite favourite song of all time (an oversight on his behalf, surely), I will always have youtube. And I will always have my favourite song which was written way back in 1988.
Gawd I’m old.
And this is kind of an after thought but yes, Gaucho. I’ve never been a huge fan of the steak, but the lamb chops are usually the bombest. But I didn’t order that, I stupidly went for the Gaucho burger which was so incredibly salty I was grasping for the water like it was JBJ’s chest hair. Panu and I couldn’t even work out what was so salty. What it the bacon? The tomato-y sauce? Was it just the whole thing? I think it was the whole thing.
Panu had beef – the churrasco cut – which was ok, not anywhere near as mind blowing as it should be considering it’s supposed to be this awesome Argentinian aged steak whatever-whatever.
Sides (sweet potato chips with three microscopic pieces of chorizo, spinach, mushrooms) were ok.
Pavlova was nothing more than a glorified meringue, the red berries were crazy sour but hey the malbec sorbet was nice!
Anyways, all I’ve been doing all morning is googling photos of JBJ and having various twitter conversations about throwing bras and panties and bare breasts on stage, none of which is actually helping my job, so I think I’d better hurry up and post this and erm, do some work.
Peace out and LOVE LOVE LOVE to Jon Bon Jovi x
The O2, Peninsula Square
North Greenwich, SE10 0DX
0207 8858 7711