After months of anticipation and mounting excitement the boys had finally gathered themselve, their disposable cameras, my fully charged digital camera, the right T-shirts, the videos and posters to be signed and caught the bus into Oxford. They were so excited. Not everyone gets to see their film-star super hero in the flesh.
And when I say hero, I really mean obsession. These two; the 'step' sod and his best friend live and breathe action movies, and here was the chance to see the biggest, best action movie hero in, er, action. So when the my mobile rang at 8:30 on Saturday evening an the 'step's' name came up, I was expecting excitement and perhaps even a claim to have shaken his hand. What I wasn't expecting was a mournful voice to say the gig had been cancelled. Can you imagine? At 13? Someone you absolutely revere. Your first ever gig. The weeks of anticipation (I won't bore you with the saga of how someone had to be at home every day for the tickets from when they were ordered to when they arrived and how for the one hour that the house was empty that was the time they arrived and left a 'couldn't deliver card' and the fall-out ...), and then that final day, that fateful Saturday. You can imagine the feeling in the pit of your stomach knowing that today is THE day. Only to find Oxford Town Hall shut and cold.
He was crushed. Utterly deflated.
Now, indulge me if you will with that tune from the Great Escape. Run it in the back of your mind, or maybe something from the Magnificent Seven. Something heroic and stirring anyhow, for this deserves no less.
The interweb.
Shepherds Bush Empire.
Three tickets for Sunday 18 March.
A mad dash on Sunday afternoon - why do I ALWAYS forget how utterly loathsome driving into London is?
And an hour or so queuing in minus temperatures being spat at by drunk Gerry Robinson look-a-likes.
That's why I was going to see this wanker on Sunday night last week: a mercy mission. And I regret not one tiny moment. Not that he was worth £30 each, even though we were almost in the front row. Oh sure, he can play guitar and had a goodish backing band, but he can't sing. Or talk properly.
Never mind. Hero status restored. And perhaps a little faith.
Bless.
Except mine, I sent a friend a text saying I was there and she never even replied.
Seems the drunk isn't the only one who thinks Steven SeaGull is a wanker. Or perhaps not the only wanker.
6 comments:
Maybe it was Mother's Day and she was already in big trouble because she'd been out and about and wasn't able to indulge you, much as she'd have liked to?
Maybe her phone was out of battery and by the time she got the message it was too late to reply?
Maybe when she was able to reply, she was then worried about disturbing you?
Maybe if you'd only texted her earlier she could have brought you a wanky London latte to keep the chill off while you stood in the queue, but maybe that wouldn't have been convenient for you!
Maybe you should cut her a little slack, slacker?
maybe I should. maybe I could. maybe I oughta.
anyway, she has now, in grand style.
it's always nice when friends kiss and make up after a little misunderstanding
:-)
I'm ashamed to admit this but I actually liked the film where the wanker played a cook on a ship but wasn't a cook really. Tommy Lee Jones was, as usual, brilliant.
yes I quite enjoyed that film too. Hokum tho', aint it?
I'm not the one who said he was a wanker....I'd love to be as good as he is on the geetar. Even that good would do me.
How bizarre, I was invited to that show and after show party, if I'd known someone actually wanted to go I could probably have got you and small one in for free. Which probably doesn't help now.
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