COLDPLAY WERE BOOKED to perform at Folk. And not just perform, but to headline, with their concert scheduled for the festival’s last evening. I’m not sure whose brilliant idea this was, but I suppose that after NÖEP performed in the same slot in ’25, the door was open for the likes of Coldplay.

I was in the press office as usual right before they went on, but a blonde woman, whom I understood was my wife, was there with me. She was a supporter of the band and had bought Parachutes after “Yellow” started getting played on MTV. But she wanted more than just to see Coldplay play. She wanted me to make love to her during the concert.

This seemed to be physically impossible: where would we find a proper spot? Her solution was an old ironing board. “See, I’ll just put my elbows here, like this,” she demonstrated to me during a break in their sets. “And then, when they play ‘Yellow’ and it peaks you can take me from behind.” “You’re crazy,” I told her. “I’m not having sex with you during a Coldplay concert!”

While we discussed the matter, Chris Martin led the crowd in a singalong of one of their blasé, forgettable songs. The entire band, including Martin, wore rain ponchos. Martin held up an umbrella and sang. Visually, it was stunning, but the music still didn’t inspire me. Meantime my wife was demanding that I help her to climax during “Yellow.” I felt so alone there standing next to that ironing board. “Please,” she whispered. “Please.”

***

While all of this was happening, Klaudia was waiting for me on a beach. She was wearing a red swimsuit that highlighted her ample bust and the salt from the sea had teased her hair into a bouquet of sunshine. She was wearing sunglasses and saying, “You are going to have to choose, you know. You are going to have to choose between her and me. You must choose between her and me.” I could see myself reflected in Klaudia’s sunglasses, which meant that I was on the beach even though I was at the festival. “Which of us two will you choose now? Which one?” Grains of sand were in my eyes, grains of time, the sky above was pastel blue.

***

I guess I caught the rest of Coldplay’s performance. Before the encore, Martin came over to me on the side of the stage and asked me how they had done. I told him it had been a wonderful show. Later, The Who came on, as a special mystery guest, and began to warm up the crowd.

Keith Moon told me that if I wanted to hear their set better, it would make sense to go up one of the towers on the edge of the stage. “That way your ears won’t bleed,” he said.Up the steps I went. When I got to the third floor of the tower, I found myself in a room full of Estonian women dressed in traditional costume, with red headscarves. One of them was a younger, dark haired woman whose name was Mai. I knew Mai from the streets of Viljandi. We had shopped at the same Konsum.

“What’s wrong with you?” Mai said. Her gray eyes peered out at me from beneath a red scarf. “You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.” “Two women are after me,” I said. I felt like an outlaw bandit. Always on the run from women and ironing boards. Then, glancing down at her in her red skirt, I asked, “Can I hug you?” “Muidugi!” she said. “Of course, you can!” “You mean you’re not afraid of me?” Mai just embraced me, warmly, softly. “But why should I be afraid of you anyway?” she said. “Besides, it’s not my fault I’m so sexy and young.”