“Well, alright, then,” I said, doing my best to hide my reluctance.
“You’ll be fine, just you wait and see. I know you hate the telephone but this is in a very good cause.”
“Really? What good cause is that, then?”
“Saving you from being beat up when I get home.”
“Oh. That I can understand. Ok, then, I’ll do my best.”
It’s this Muse concert, you see, in London at the O2 Dome [used to be called the Millennium Dome]. Graham has a ticket for the second night of the two-day gig and had just heard yesterday that there were tickets on sale for the first night and so had conceived a desire to see them two nights running.
And, while he was trying to get through on the bookings website, and failing along with thousands of others, he thought that I ought to try on the phone booking line.
I got through almost immediately, spoke to a nice young man, and purchased a ticket without any problem at all.
I sent Graham a text message: GOTTIT!
Moments later the phone rang and a delighted Graham was congratulating me for being a clever boy.
“Does this mean I won’t get beat up when you get home?” I asked.
“Yup.”
“Not even when you see all the bits of dust I haven’t dealt with?”
“Nah. What’s a bit of dust between friends?”
~~+~~
road sweeping machine
clatters past house
old grey cat swears loudly
~~+~~
