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King of the trolls at MIDEM

January 25, 2011

MIDEM always throws up some colourful characters and they are not all northern comedy lawyers like Al Yiddley. Having bought him dinner on Saturday night, I am fully expecting a bill for the 3 hours it took for me to spend 300 euros (about £250 at today’s exchange rate). That will push it nicely past a grand, nice work if you can get it.

Anyway, more on MIDEM’s ability to produce colourful characters; I found a couple of vikings outside the Palais Des Festivals yesterday from the band King Of The Trolls, a heavy metal outfit from Lapland pictured below.

I am sure their mothers love them

Bizarre clothing and big beards must be all the rage up there, I took my kids to see another bearded weirdo in Lapland a few years ago. Father Christmas was out of the same mould, huge, hairy and very scary. Quite how you manage to form a band and rehearse in such an obscure place defeats me, and quite how they can call themselves trolls when one of the band is the size of the guy on the right is also a mystery. Are trolls not meant to be small scary things? Maybe this guy is a mutant troll or maybe a giant troll? So there you go folks, when they are representing Lapland in the next Eurovision Song Contest, remember you saw then first here.

Another grueling day at the biggest independent music market in the world. I worked out that first time I came to MIDEM was 1982, and I have been every year since, so I have been coming for 30 years. Sounds like an overlong porn film.

Again lunch yesterday had to be taken on the beach. Rado Plage was once again the venue and from my seat I took this picture. As you can see life at MIDEM is not all a bowl of cherries, after all I had to keep my jacket on.

The dish of the day board, nicely framed by the Mediterranean

For once, a quiet evening, not usual during MIDEM, but I looked at the handful of party invites, thought of the carnage that was likely to be wreaked on my constitution tomorrow night at the Burns supper at Ma Nolans on the port at Nice, thought of my bed, and before I knew what had happened, I was on an inescapable tractor beam towards my bed. I must be getting old. Luckily the tractor beam weakened enough for a restorative pint of Guinness at the Station Tavern in Cannes on the way home.

Day 3 of MIDEM today and already I can feel the on rush of those normal symptoms that this show produces. It’s not nice and it’s not pretty. That perhaps should be my epitaph.

Talking of not nice and not pretty, I stopped off at the bookshop on the way to the station on the way home last night and asked the young lady assistant,”Do you have the new book out for men with short penises?” She replied, “I’m not sure if it’s in yet.” I said that’s the one, I’ll take a copy.

So the kilt will be dusted off today ready for this evenings festivities. It is always a delight for that nice lady decorator when I wear the kilt, she goes all giggly and girly, and if you believe that you need therapy. There are certain things about wearing a kilt that a good Scotsman cannot reveal but as an Englishman who for some obscure reason is entitles to wear the Stewart tartan, I can reveal that its true that… Edited due to lack of space.

Chris France
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