A view from frustration hill

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.