Dear Aunty Norah
I’m at a gig right now, one of those seated outdoor events, because the band has been around for a while and they’re big. It’s a lovely summer evening, there’s a gentle breeze, the stars are out, it’s just perfect. Except the dicksplatter who chose the venue decided that it would be a good idea to put the seats out on flat ground so that shortarses like me sitting down the back can’t see a fucking thing over the heads of the multitudes of people in front of me. As you can probably tell, I’m a bit agitated. Please help.
You’re in a bit of a tizzy, aren’t you? You know what, I think I’m at the same gig you’re at, but I’m down the front in the media section, eating canapes and drinking premium lager with my mates. The view of Iva and the gang is just great from where I’m situated and all I’ll have to do tomorrow is write a little piece saying how good they were and I’m done. Good luck getting home in all the traffic. I think I’ll just hang out with the band for a bit after the show.
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