The Sink Was Full Of Fishes

But she wasn't like anyone else. She would have never dared to catapult herself onto her myths like an obsessed, nor she were ready to follow them in incognito, nor tailing them everyhwere, bothering and annoying them with a no respecting behaviour. She wouldn't have tried to ask them about shallow things stupidly laughing and winking... She had no intentions to invade their space, she was just delighted to get the chance, for a brief time, to look at the way they were for real. She was interested in them for they were people, not bigwigs and without media between her and them she was allowed to stare with clear eye at their faces, she was entitled to observe the way they were joking and mocking one another, the way they were playing football between the various snaps, and the way they were chatting with their crew. Those scenes were emotionally meaningful for her, like she were part of their life for a blink, a blink she wasn't going to forget. They were people like her, maybe just a little bit more special. Well, of course they were more special.
"So you're in here due to the festival?"
"No, not only... I am in London from a couple of months for learning the language..."
"You've learnt it well. Really haven't you will to talk with them?"
"Well, I'd do like to, don't get me wrong, but not at the price of coming down to them. Can't you understand me? My joy? I've got to see them when no one has, this is so much more than I was expecting from my day already..."
"You ain't disturbing them. You wouldn't, and this morning they're cool about any stuff. Be brave, you're gagging for it girl, and think that everybody would pick up at you if you won't get not even a sign here! Go for it!"
She knew he was right. But her heart was jumpin outside her chest. She was about to forget all rules of sintactic construction in face of them; whom woud have she talked with firstly? What if she weren't getting what they had to say? She was never ready to understand them clearly on radios or tv shows...What a great thing!
She was ready to step for a moment in their universe dreamy paved and leading to strange trips. She looked again at their set: they were sitting on deck chairs and in front of them, on angler's kind of stools there were five tvs, one for each band member.Liam was in the middle, at his right side, it was Noel, and further on, Guigsy, the bassplayer; at singer's left, Bonehead, the rhythm guitarist, and after him, the new drummer, Alan White. Nothing seemed enough satisfying for the photographer, so the snapping took quite a long time, and they tried many different stances and positions, while around the coming and go of the crew resembled ants' hard-workin proceeding.
To be fair, it had to be said that one zig-zaggin and messy individual was there as well that morning: obviously, Liam. Melania didn't ask anything about either him, nor teh others. They might have been every single day out bodging over, but those weren't her businness, she would have never talked bad about them. She adored them.
"I thought they were taller?"
"I know, I know...Everyone think so, but wait to have them face to face with you, and they'll look like giants!"
Mighty power of charisma! She met them, and she knew all of them. And they all looked taller then.
As they learnt she was a foreign one, they tried hard to speak slower, Noel being the loveliest, and venturing upon a less Northern kind of brutal speech.He was successful for 7 seconds, then he gave up, but the gesture was still something to praise. All the five of them were extremely cordial,and nevertheless forced to be quick by circumstances, they weren't brief; she was presented also teh photographer, but she didn't get his name and she avoided to ask for it twice due to shyness, confiding Jill, all knower of Oasis's mysteries would have been capable to solve her doubt later on.
The most difficult conversation was the one with Liam. He was robbering her brain, stealing her words, and he had to be used to have this effect on girls, because he marched a lot on it: beyond the blue lenses of his glasses she could anyway see his big, slightly diverse eyes, lookin a little lost in who knows what far away thoughts, and yet intensively charming and mesmerizing. But he looked absolutely lovely and kind, "incredibly sweet" was her definition for him in her head, however she was more than aware which kind of dangerous ass and brusque he was capable to be, and how very proud about these qualities he was as well...
She kept judging him sweet even after, being hit by a fast ball (Noel?), he began to roar a dissing series of full-mouthed offences that luckely she wasn't ready to translate entirely... then he stopped suddenly and giftin her with a dazzling smile he asked:
"Don't mind them, girl, they're fuckers. Envious fuckers. Where is that you'd like my autograph on?"