First up, they’re not.
Here is my late birthday wish. Please someone, make a dream come true for me: let Wimps come to the UK and tour and have The Legend! support them and hang out and maybe share the odd beer or two though not literally share unless we decide we like to exchange bodily fluids and then it will be cool or maybe we won’t even think about it and sit by the venue backdoor on a balmy summer evening and discuss favourite Patrik Fitzgerald B-sides and when the evening is over we discover that it is not yet over because we have wandered down to Brighton beach and discovered some locals have made a bonfire of plastic yogurt containers and hope and we will throw pebbles at each other’s crotches and laugh and run happily through backstreets whistling Tacocat outtakes until the dawn comes up or 8am whichever is sooner and we can find a little cafe somewhere in the vicinity of Dyke Rd Park and throw back espresso shots and laugh and giggle merrily and pretend we ain’t aware of all the mistrust, all the disgust in the world and drink coffee in moderation, hurling good-natured insults at the Saturday morning lycra-d cyclists while choking back anecdotes.
Brighton will be Olympia, WA for one more day, and life will be full of checkered shirts and plaintive bass runs, drums chattering and clattering on the dancefloor.
So this is my late birthday wish. I know it will come true one day. How do I know with such certainty? Because I’m the old guy at the party.
And I know where the treasure chests are buried.