I have had one of those weeks; in fact it has taken me this long to write about it as my frustration has literally known no bounds. Let's see if I can make it through the blog without seeing red and chewing my lips off.
First things first, Monday (we may as well do this in chronological order). I am a member of the Pearl Jam fan club and one of the reasons I continue to be a member is the 'almost guarantee' of finding out about new concerts/tours that they will be embarking on. Usually the fans find out first, and Monday was no exception. For a bit of background, the last time I saw PJ live was about 3 years ago, and I recently got tickets to see them at the O2 in August. This made me very happy and I laughed and clapped and danced. Then Monday happened. On Monday we were told that they would be doing another date in London. An 'intimate' gig, at the Shepherd's Bush Empire to be precise. All we had to do was register for tickets and the fan club would be drawing a lottery to see who would get tickets on Wednesday. So I enter the fan club draw.
Tuesday. HMV jump on this Pearl Jam loving bandwagon and offer the chance of pre-sale tickets to the SBE gig if you order their new album. No problem, think I. Once you order this you get a link to the pre-sale tickets, on Tuesday and Wednesday. WHICH DOESN'T WORK! Well, it does but you just can't get through. No matter though, there's always the fan club lottery.
Wednesday. I receive the fateful email from the 10 club explaining that my tickets were not chosen. The urge to break down into full on sobs is excruciatingly large and my mind whirrs and ticks as I start to breakdown my options. There is always...
Thursday. The general sale starts at 9am on the Ticketweb and HMV sites, so I get myself into work early to be online exactly when it begins. Fifteen minutes of watching a time bar move slowly across the screen and then the message "Perl Jam tickets are sold out". I actually scream, the spelling mistake a small stabbing knife in my back. So that was it, all over. My urge to swear at this point is beyond anything I have felt recently, worse than having my bag stolen with half my make-up kit in it.
Friday. My work away day and it's raining. Pouring actually, with lightning and thunder, and we are going to be doing 'team sports' in the afternoon. My joy knows no bounds. Now these things are always hilarious to the lower masses and a bit of a bore to the Partners and Directors, but I need a drinking session to drown my woes and throw myself mercilessly at the games despite wearing someone else's waterproofs. My enthusiasm pays off as our team wins the sports bit and we get three bottles of champagne. Nice! That, my friends, was the beginning of the end and the rest is a bit of a blur. What goes on tour stays on tour, as they say, so I won't be filling you in.
And no, I still don't have PJ tickets for Shepherd's Bush, and the prices on Ebay are so disgusting I may have to sell myself.
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
Saturday, 18 July 2009
Back to the daily grind
So there it was, a week in the Peak District, a thoroughly lovely one at that. Did I take my entire wardrobe with me I hear you cry? In a word, no. Although I can't honestly say that I was too thrifty with my luggage either, particularly as I managed to come home with at least ten unworn items. Ah well.
It was a shaky start to the week as we managed to arrive in over five hours, not the three and a half we had hoped. However, the cottage was beautiful, surrounded by sheep, chickens, horses and cows. Pure country bliss. The bottle of red wine and free range eggs left for our consumption weren't bad either...
We managed two walks in all, as well as a day out at Alton Towers and trips to the lovely towns of Bakewell and Buxton. Tarts and water were consumed in copious amounts, but more tarts if we're being honest. That's where the walks came in handy - three miles the first day and six the other. Not bad for beginners I'd say!
Anyway, we are now back and I have received feedback for my first writing assignment, which has spurred me on to get cracking on my second. No time like the present. Off to see Harry Potter tonight (not in person you understand, but what a glorious fantasy), which I am thinly disguising to Tom as research for my writing. Needless to say he is not remotely convinced, nor keen, shame really.
It was a shaky start to the week as we managed to arrive in over five hours, not the three and a half we had hoped. However, the cottage was beautiful, surrounded by sheep, chickens, horses and cows. Pure country bliss. The bottle of red wine and free range eggs left for our consumption weren't bad either...
We managed two walks in all, as well as a day out at Alton Towers and trips to the lovely towns of Bakewell and Buxton. Tarts and water were consumed in copious amounts, but more tarts if we're being honest. That's where the walks came in handy - three miles the first day and six the other. Not bad for beginners I'd say!
Anyway, we are now back and I have received feedback for my first writing assignment, which has spurred me on to get cracking on my second. No time like the present. Off to see Harry Potter tonight (not in person you understand, but what a glorious fantasy), which I am thinly disguising to Tom as research for my writing. Needless to say he is not remotely convinced, nor keen, shame really.
Friday, 10 July 2009
To freedom and beyond
Welcome to my first post! No need for introductions, I'm getting straight in.
It has come to my attention that I am suffering from 'imminent holiday syndrome' - complete lack of concentration on anything other than our upcoming holiday. I find this happens to me a lot, although it differs from 'imminent holiday syndrome', to 'imminent whatever-happens-to-be-going-on-at-the-time syndrome'. It can be anything really; birthdays, weddings, nights out with the girls, hair appointments... I find myself consumed with details and unable to concentrate on anything else. This week, however, has topped all others. The reason? We are holidaying in England, the Peak District to be exact.
For those of you who don't know me, and I'll assume that is everybody for now, I don't do British holidays. Well, rarely anyway. The thing is, a holiday to me is sun, beach, swimming pool, eating and drinking, foreign languages etc. I understand baggage allowances, I know what you can and can't take on a plane in little bottles, I get airports, airport transfers, currency coversion, passport expiry, check in times and packing a week's worth of clothes into a suitcase that must weigh less than 25kg. These things make a holiday to me, it's the preparation and being in control that I thrive on, making lists and crossing tasks off. And yet I am thrown by this imposter of a holiday.
Now don't get me wrong, I cannot wait to get to this beautiful part of the world. I've done my research and am terribly excited about what we'll be getting up to. But it's the preparation that has wobbled me. There are simply no restrictions! We will be driving the four hour journey in my little Corsa, and staying in a lovely cottage with all the amenities you could ask for. I could literally take my entire wardrobe including 16 pairs of shoes, a picnic basket, a week's shopping, extra pillows, hair dryer and straighteners, my make-up kit... and there would still be ample room.
It is tempting to do all of this, but then would it really feel like a break? Or would it feel more like a house transplant; all of your belongings scattered around you but with a different front door? Part of what I love about holidays is the newness of your surroundings, the feeling of being away from it all. Could I really feel that if I had 18 different outfits to choose from every night and all of my luxuries at arms length? I'm not sure, so I have decided to treat this like any other holiday and only pack the essentials. Let's just hope the British weather doesn't let me down as 1 pair of trainers just might not cut it.
I'll keep you posted.
It has come to my attention that I am suffering from 'imminent holiday syndrome' - complete lack of concentration on anything other than our upcoming holiday. I find this happens to me a lot, although it differs from 'imminent holiday syndrome', to 'imminent whatever-happens-to-be-going-on-at-the-time syndrome'. It can be anything really; birthdays, weddings, nights out with the girls, hair appointments... I find myself consumed with details and unable to concentrate on anything else. This week, however, has topped all others. The reason? We are holidaying in England, the Peak District to be exact.
For those of you who don't know me, and I'll assume that is everybody for now, I don't do British holidays. Well, rarely anyway. The thing is, a holiday to me is sun, beach, swimming pool, eating and drinking, foreign languages etc. I understand baggage allowances, I know what you can and can't take on a plane in little bottles, I get airports, airport transfers, currency coversion, passport expiry, check in times and packing a week's worth of clothes into a suitcase that must weigh less than 25kg. These things make a holiday to me, it's the preparation and being in control that I thrive on, making lists and crossing tasks off. And yet I am thrown by this imposter of a holiday.
Now don't get me wrong, I cannot wait to get to this beautiful part of the world. I've done my research and am terribly excited about what we'll be getting up to. But it's the preparation that has wobbled me. There are simply no restrictions! We will be driving the four hour journey in my little Corsa, and staying in a lovely cottage with all the amenities you could ask for. I could literally take my entire wardrobe including 16 pairs of shoes, a picnic basket, a week's shopping, extra pillows, hair dryer and straighteners, my make-up kit... and there would still be ample room.
It is tempting to do all of this, but then would it really feel like a break? Or would it feel more like a house transplant; all of your belongings scattered around you but with a different front door? Part of what I love about holidays is the newness of your surroundings, the feeling of being away from it all. Could I really feel that if I had 18 different outfits to choose from every night and all of my luxuries at arms length? I'm not sure, so I have decided to treat this like any other holiday and only pack the essentials. Let's just hope the British weather doesn't let me down as 1 pair of trainers just might not cut it.
I'll keep you posted.
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