Thursday, 7 October 2010

Please mind the gap.

Tuesday/gig day was a very long day. It started with me and Jemma making our way to the train station. Jemma made the slanderous accusation that the reason we were a little rushed to get to the platform was down to my buying a Nero mocha. Her vile words didn't stop the mocha tasting good.

Once we got into London we started on a long arduous tube journey to time our exit routes. After the gig Jemma would be leaving from Waterloo Station and me from Paddington. Many superfluous, unnecessary tube stops later we arrived at Shepherds Bush and made our way to the 02 Arena venue thing for Lifehouse.

We queued for about an hour before the gig. This time was both good and bad. The bad was drugged up Jamaican touts peddling for tickets and generally acting like they worked for 02. I wanted to send them back to Kingston Town in a body bag.

The good was a lad called Mark who came up to us and asked where we were from. At first I was a little annoyed and bemused, but he turned out to be the charming bassist of an up-and-coming band called "Ivyrise". We were impressed by the effort he went to to talk to us, and also give us a listen to one of their songs on his Ipod.

As for the gig I turn to the words of one of Lifehouse's songs: "Talk, talk is cheap. Give me a word you can keep." And the word you can keep is Wadetastic.


Despite Jemma's concern of being killed to death by disgruntled Burger King employees, and my worry of missing my train and being stuck in London overnight, we both got there alright.

You'd have thought that would be the end of it, but oh no. Still time for drama. I was quietly settled down in my seat reading a book on the train when something almost exactly like this came over the tannoy: "Ladies and Gentlemen we apologize for the delay. There is a suicidal person on the line."

Queue a lot of puzzlement from the passengers. Made even more confusing a few minutes later by the same tannoy but with "suicidal person" changed to "trespasser". Our hysterical Indian steward changed his mind again a little later and we were back to a suicide jumper as official reason for our holdup.

Our driver lost his enthusiasm for speed and, apparently under instructions to travel at -1.9 miles per hour, got me home an hour late. I am not a fan of central London in the slightest, but you have to give it to the tubes, at least they tend to get you places on time.

Not long after the train pulled into Bath, I finally got to bed and closed the door on a very long day.

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