We’re doing some Spring cleaning now that it’s almost Fall, and the Spousal Unit found an envelope full of random ticket stubs from my misspent youth. It was an interesting collection, and I was amazed how each one immediately brought back stories to mind.
This is the major one – my first sighting of a Beatle in concert. I had gone to London for a vacation (it was, and is, one of my favorite cities) and I was doing all the music-related stuff I couldn’t do when I was with my parents years earlier. (Consider trying to explain to your parents that you had to take three different trains on the Tube so you could walk another six blocks just to walk across the street in front of an old house with graffiti on it.)
I had visited Rock Circus that morning, so I went back to my hotel (the White House Hotel, where I usually stayed back then) and turned on the radio. “Blah blah blah Paul McCartney Earl’s Court tonight blah blah blah.” What? Paul McCartney was in town (not too surprising – he has houses there) but he’s playing a concert tonight?
For the first time in my life, I saw the value of a concierge. So, I called downstairs and as nonchalantly as I could, said, “I was wondering if you could find me a ticket to the Paul McCartney show tonight.” As all concierges are likely to say, “Give me a few moments, sir.”
Now, all I had to do was wait. Ring! “I’m afraid we can’t find any tickets, Sir.” Note to self: Never stay in a mid-priced hotel.
Then, I remembered there was a ticket broker in the Tube station across the street. So, I called (as even back then, I was too lazy to just walk over.) As nonchalantly as I could, I asked, “Do you have a ticket for Paul McCartney tonight?” “Yes, sir, we have some left. They’re 50 pounds.” Hmm. I have a debit card and minimal cash, and another two days in town. Panic. But then, “Do you take American Express?” “Of course, sir.” “Hold me a ticket, I’m on the way!”
So, with corporate card in hand, I ran across the street, found the ticket broker (aka scalper) and purchased a ticket. (I finally noticed today when looking at the scan that I might have overpaid for the ticket slightly.)
I had no idea where the seat was – I didn’t care, it was in the building. It was fifty pounds I didn’t have, but I could work that out next payday. So, I jumped on the Tube and headed to Earl’s Court Station.
I remember a couple of things – it was a great show. The free PETA-sponsored program was larger than the one they were selling. The crowd was one of the happiest I had ever been in. Paul had just released an album (“Off the Ground”) that I did not know about but heard a lot of it that evening.
The only one not happy was the gentleman sitting next to me (on the floor, about fifteen rows from the stage – best fifty pounds I ever spent!) The gentleman next to me had no emotion whatsoever. There was no reaction to any song. The crowd as a whole would applaud after every song (“Very nice, Paul!”) but as soon as a Beatles song started, everybody was up, singing, dancing and speaking in tongues. The guy next to me never shifted. He must have been a reviewer.
When the show let out, it was pouring rain, and everyone was running for the Tube station. The turnstiles were locked and the Tube passes wouldn’t open them, so the staff just opened them all up and let everyone run through to get out of the rain.
A great night.
