The Prince Fan Formerly Known As hhn

Hello people. It is me again - rather than the missus - back from the brink of not seeing Prince the other night. Much of what mrs househusbandnot reported was true, although she did miss out The Waunch muttering "If I hear another song about cat fish I am going to get on the stage and kill him" during the Dr John set at the Prince gig the other night. (The Waunch will from now on be referred to here on hhn as Brandon because a girl at the gig took a shine to him because she said he looked like Brandon Flowers. [This girl was not necessarily the finest of judges of lookalikeys since she did admit she'd had a couple of Es, but hey you never know, maybe the drugs do work. Although her boyfriend was literally incapable of stringing a sentence together.]) (In related news, mrs hhn has been pestering me ever since she wrote hhn over the weekend for how many comments she had had. I feel the blog bug germinating in mrs hhn.)

So, I am here now, wiser but sadder that the world does not really work as it promises - or I thought it might anyway - and resolved that I was forced to watch Dr John rather than Prince, and fully aware that all the complaining that I have done (and I have reported at least one organisation to the ASA today I promise you) will come to nothing because it is all one big fucking stitch up out there, and all they want is your money rather than for you to enjoy what you wanted to enjoy.

The consolation - and therefore ironic thanks to Prince - is that I was reminded what fine company The Waunch...sorry Brandon is. There was not one cross word at me for the entire seven or eight hours of not seeing Prince that I forced him through. Indeed (but for the complete disappointment of not seeing Prince in a tiny venue) it was a great evening with a good friend. I count our river boat journey down to the O2 Arena on a completely empty boat as one of the more enjoyable of my London experiences. And the brief discussion we had about our lives as the sun came up on the boat back as similarly important and honest.

And thanks too to Mr No Show for reminding me what a perfect wife I have, who nursed me back from my despondency through Saturday with sausage bagels, and hearty laughs at my comments about "fucking Dr boogaloo John". Without her I would still be angry, rather than just this current contemplative.

And final thanks to that purple c*&t for making me realise that I am perhaps a little too old to be racing around in the middle of the night to gigs that don't happen. I feel older but wiser (if still a little sadder at the state of all things). And older's gotta be good on a week before your birthday.

(Having said all this, I am actually going to the main Prince gig tomorrow night. If you hear he's been Jarvis Cockered on stage, you will know who to blame.)

We live and learn. P.E.A.C.E. hhn