I only just found out about the Patrick Wolf gig at the Union Chapel on the 19th December. After missing his appearance at Koko on the 3rd October whilst I was in Florence (a further holiday disaster which I will relate another time when I have the strength), I was naturally quite buzzy that all is not lost, and I finally get to go to one of those “intimate venues” that everyone raves about as being the best way to see him.
Imagine my surprise when I found out that my recent run of total sodding sucking bad luck in the realm of missed opportunities is still alive and well and stinking, and that tickets are totally sold out. Everywhere.
It’s a little bit poofy, I know, but I feel like bursting into petulant little tears.
Why do I seem to constantly miss out on everything now by a mere few infuritating days?
Oh well, at least I still have all my teeth and legs and eyes and such. Yay. Hurray for having teeth and legs and eyes. I think I’ll go home later and thank my lucky stars that I have teeth and legs and eyes. I might even use my legs to run home to brush my teeth and stare at something for hours on end to celebrate.
Whoopee.
I had a dream that I walked past Patrick last night, except he was leaving my parents house as I arrived, he was shirtless, very short and had an extremley well defined six pack. I’ve met him and know none of this matches how he looks in real life, but in my dream I *knew* it was him.
I know exactly what you mean. I keep having these dreams that Patrick’s at some gig or festival, and I walk past him. I’m always trying to get his attention but not look as if I am – "oh, hello, how are you?" – that sort of thing.
Well, to be honest it’s more like trying not look like I’ve been camping outside his house all night and writing down what times he’s left the building.