Symbolism

On the Gatwick Express on the way back from..er Gatwick on Wednesday evening mrs househusbandnot was reading a discarded Evening Standard. "Hey," she said. "Prince is playing in London in August"...

At this stage in my life things get blurry and go into some sort of slow and also fast motion. I scour the advert for information as to when tickets will go on sale. Something about priority booking for people with O2 accounts WHICH I DON'T HAVE. Normal tickets available to normal people a day later on Friday. It will be sold out. I will not get to see Prince. I try to calm my breathing. We get home. I go on line early Thursday morning. Why am I not a close personal friend of someone who can get me tickets? You need some damned O2 password to buy the tickets. They are already selling for triple the price through ticket sites. Why have I not worked harder in my life, so I could afford these £100 tickets. I check various sites again, and again. Can I get a job as a security guard at the venue between now and the gigs? Why am I not a hot bird that could worm her way backstage? I make a few panicked calls to mrs hhn because...well because. Why did I not work harder at the guitar, so that I was close friends with musicians who could have got me tickets? Thursday morning ticks into Thursday noon, as the tickets continue to sell out. Can I get an O2 account today? Life is so unfair. I love Prince more than anyone else in the world. Should I send a begging comment to his website? Why did I not buy that symbol-shaped tambourine when Prince had that shop in Campden? I could have traded it on ebay for tickets. Do I know anyone who works at O2? Loads of annoying people already have tickets, and I will have to wait until Friday morning for a shot at the normal priced tickets. There is no way I will get any. I feel like crying. I read a few news stories about Prince being in town promoting his tour. I look wistfully at the purple lining of my suit. Maybe I will bump into Prince while he is here, and I can ask him for tickets? Maybe...I can't believe I am not going to get Prince tickets. He is playing two weeks in London, and so many people OTHER THAN ME are going to get tickets. Annoying people. People who don't really care about Prince live. Can I sell something to be able to afford the - increasingly - over-priced tickets from the ticket sites? I drink coffee to pump me up some. Noon gives way to early afternoon. I go for a swim, humming Prince tunes in the changing rooms at the pool in case anyone there has tickets that they want to sell to me. Not a whisper. I swim, sad, realising that I - the person who loves Prince live more than anyone else on earth - am not going to get tickets because I don't have a fucking O2 account, because I am not a millionaire, and because I never prayed to Jesus when I was young. I hate myself, and my life.

I pick up my phone messages after my swim. My mate &^% has called. "Hi there Prince fool. I borrowed my sister's O2 account, and have got you tickets for Prince"...the world stops turning, there is a God (and his name is %^&), I have Prince tickets. I fall exhausted to the floor (well a seat at Starbucks). I have Prince tickets. I call mrs hhn. We have Prince tickets. I drink coffee. I have Prince tickets. I get on the bus home. I have Prince tickets. I am writing my blog. I still have Prince tickets. (I just need to keep from internally combusting between now and the gig.)

Big Prince luv 2 %^& 4 getting me tickets.