Sign in Stranger
We were deep into the afternoon’s drinking when the stranger at the next table asked if anyone would like tickets for the Norah Jones concert.All discussion of Keegan’s lack of tactical nous stopped as Dearest nonchalantly suggested she might be interested.
“I’ll have ‘em.”
Then, an afterthought. “How much?”
“Well I paid £67 quid for two, but you can have them for £40. Just to cut my losses. We can’t make it you see.
Immediately my spidey sense kicks in and I start to envisage cons, rip offs and stings of the highest order. I mean he’s been sat there for ages, occasionally throwing a bored eye in the direction the Sunderland v West Brom top-of-the-table clash in the corner, occasionally sipping from a pint of Boddingtons. Like Strider he was. The Lone Stranger
Now he’s offering tickets to a sold out concert (we know because Dearest had already tried) at knock down prices? There’s just a touch of the ’little bit whooo, little bit waaayyyy' about this guy and I’m desperately trying to signal that a tactical withdrawal is in order.
Too late though, the deal is done. Bollocks!
Then it starts to get surreal.
“You’ll have to pick the tickets up from the Box Office on the night of the concert.”
My suspicions confirmed. The man’s a con. Dearest - too – becomes suspicious and points out, not unreasonably, that there’s no way that she is going to fork out £40 then turn up at Manchester Apollo only to be laughed out of the Box Office.
Not being the world’s greatest Norah fan I was quite happy that the deal had collapsed. We returned to Keegan.
The next Strider has, well…strode (stridden?) across to our table to explain that he wouldn’t dream of taking the money upfront, he understood our doubts and that the tickets can only be claimed with his credit card anyway.
We left the pub with his credit card and a letter authorising us to pick up the tickets.
“Just leave the money behind the bar – I’ll call in for it during the week.”
I’m a great judge of other people I am. I could see straight away that the shifty git was a wrong ‘un.
The seats were bloody superb as well. Row D, right in the middle. Perfect view and pretty near perfect sound. Ms Jones and the Handsome Band (surely a pisstake), were on form. Starting with an excellent version of Hank Williams’ ‘Cold, Cold Heart’, they played a selection from her first two albums plus a few tasty covers from artists as diverse as AC/DC, Tom Waits and ‘Dook’ Ellington.
An excellent group of musicians; including American jazz guitarist Adam Levy and English ‘sessioneer to the stars’ Robbie McIntosh on slide, mandolin and various electrics.
Trouble is it's all soooooo *nice*. I mean. don't get me wrong, the musicianship is of the highest standard. Some of the songwriting also. It's just too, well, *samey*. The Apollo – at least from where we were sat – was small enough to still retain the intimate atmosphere of a jazz, folk or blues club. A larger venue would probably overwhelm the band – and the music, which could do with a little more arrangement - a little more chiaroscuro.
Forty quid well spent though - on the whole. I might ‘ve baulked at £67 (including booking fee). Actually I would’ve baulked at £67 (including booking fee), I mean I can remember when you could experience the greatest Rock Stars the world has ever seen and still have change from a pound note.
Mind you, we had a great time abusing his credit card.
Back on the bike now the inclement weather has left the North West. No noticable improvement in waist size, lung capacity or muscle though.
Tell me it’s doing me good. Please.
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