in which I remember what it was that I forgot I was missing by cutting back on concerts

recovered from show
crappy seats but I don’t care
’cause Hawksley‘s brilliant

Mr.Q stayed home
on daddy detail and all
survived – Hawksley-less

note to self: take friends
to concerts more, they part lines
for last parking space*

********

*a co-worker came for supper with Mr.Q’s cousin and I. The co-worker wasn’t even going to the show, but lived nearby. As we drove past the venue [and old church – amazing, gorgeous and acoustically lovely], we realised how utterly screwed we were for the general admission seating and parking. We drove down the lane, slowly, so as not to kill anyone in line and my co-worker saw a spot between two cars on the side. Behind the line up. And it was barely a spot – more like someone trying to leave a little space so they could get out later. But my co-worker launched herself from my car, parted the line of people and directed me into the free – as in no meter, no pay booth, no permits – space [enough to qualify my giant-assed station wagon as “parked”, anyway] before wandering off into the sunset.

So, to hell with slightly obstructed seating. We were close to the stage and we had killer parking. Oh, and did I mention that the entire show – Hawksley, the band, the venue – was brilliant? Did I? Let me mention it again: brilliant. If not vaguely mellow for being in a church. On a Wednesday. And brilliant.

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