I went to see Richard Thompson at the London Palladium last night. It was, as is noted elsewhere, a stunning gig, the best thing I’ve seen since lockdown so far with RT on top form.
I had been looking forward to the gig for ages, all the more so as I had managed to get my hands on tickets for me and my friends in the centre of the front row – seats A10-A14. Imagine my horror when, as we made our way to the seats, I saw two of them were already occupied – by a couple whose age looked to be of a piece with the rest of the audience. I’m guessing they were probably man and wife.
The support act was playing so there followed a hushed but tense discussion with the man. I asked if he was sure they were in the right seats, he confirmed (politely but firmly) that they were, I used the torch on my phone to compare our tickets and pointed out that his were in row I and that he must have misread the letter as a number. The poor guy was disappointed and a bit crestfallen but, went off to find the right seats.
If that had been me, it would have spoilt my evening. I’d have sat through the gig in my excellent seats in the middle of the 9th row fretting about whether I’d made a fool of myself and telling myself that my other half would not have let me forget it for years. I do hope that the gentleman was made of sterner stuff than I and that he enjoyed the brilliant concert every bit as much as I did – and that his wife (if wife she is) doesn’t mock him for the mistake.
Am I alone in thinking that if I’d been in his position, I’d have been unable to avoid pangs of gloom for weeks ahead? Have others here managed to make themselves miserable in circumstances where they should have been thoroughly happy?