At the beginning of this week I received an email informing me that The Streets concert, which I had bought tickets for the day they were released, has been cancelled, due to the singer leaving the band. We were quite disappointed about this, this being one of the few bands we wish to see live.
Not to be too put off by ths news, we looked forward, instead, to a Linton Kwesi Johnson gig, tickets to which I got for Jo’s birthday. Unfortunately, we couldn’t get a babysitter in time, which meant that Jo and our friend Chris went instead, leaving me happily at home to take care of Freya.
I got a telephone call about an hour after Jo’s departure, informing me that the concert had changed date to next Sunday. This actually didn’t turn out as bad as it sounds, though, since Jo and I have time to get a babysitter sorted for that date, and Jo and Chris could spend all evening, until 4am, drinking Gin and Tonic.
Still undeterred, we went to town today to see James Hollingworth, a Swedish musician known from the 70’s for creating some absolute masterpieces. Anything that is entitled “The elk are demonstrating”, “I am a toothbrush”, and “Ebert” (with the immortal opening lyrics, “Hello, what’s your name? My name is Ebert and I’ve got a frog in my pocket”) deserves to been seen live, and we were looking forward to all three of us being entertained on this rainy afternoon.
Surprise, surprise: there was no concert. We had completely messed up the dates, and James was probably somewhere miles away drinking tea and eating dainty biscuits, because he is scheduled to play next weekend.
If I were to be pessimistic about the whole thing, I could add that our friends from London went back on Tuesday, Wolves lost 3-1 on Friday night, and I start work tomorrow (after a year of paternity leave), but I won’t.
