If I had a crystal ball I'd be gazing in it now and making lots of "oooooo-ing" and "aaaaah-ing" noises. Y'see, tomorrow, along with about 4.2 billion other people, I'll be heading to Hyde Park to see the Foo Fighters.
This'll be my second Foos gig; I saw them for the first time at Earls Court in December. And damn good seats I had, too - you could see the white's of Dave's eyes. Somehow, I don't think that'll happen tomorrow; the last gig I saw at Hyde Park was the Red Hot Chili Peppers a couple of years back. On that occasion at least, Flea was very aptly named. I figure we'll be looking at a bit of a Where's Wally-type scenario for trying to track down the Grohlster.
Whether we actually see the band or have just paid 40 quid to sit in a big manky park with a load of drunk pikeys, I'm expecting (at the very least hoping) to have a good time. The weather forecast is, as Robin Williams might say, "Hot! Damn hot!" so I'll no doubt try to top up my tan, which annoyingly has already shown the initial signs of peeling off.
The most troubling thing about a gig at Hyde Park is that you've got to be prepared for the pints of beer that come sailing through the air, inevitably toward me; I might not drink it, but chances are I'll be wearing it. Still, it could be worse. If you're in the 'posh' bit right at the front, chances are those plastic glasses will contain a completely different amber-coloured beverage.
Hmmm. 'Urine' trouble if you've bought the expensive tickets... They don't call it the 'golden circle' for nuttin'. Do you see where I'm going with this or do I need to spell it out?
Glasses. Full. Of wee.
You have my permission to vomit!
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