When you’re feeling old and then this happens
A week of winter flu, parenting and a tour de‘ Park of Cape Town had taken its toll.
Wednesday 4:45pm. I walked through our driveway maze of cars and toddler transportation devices, dipping under the willow fronds as I approach the front door. I feel the sudden impact of old person dread as I consider that this would not be it for the day. We had bought tickets to a rockshow.
The tickets cost a lot of money. Bearing in mind this hefty down-payment, I wrack my brain for a socially acceptable reason for not going. If someone found out we dropped a thousand bucks on tickets to the Script and watched Series 3 reruns of Friends on Netflix instead, we would get looks.
No chance of escape.
To speed up the evening routine I ordered us something called Taste of Thailand on the Mr Delivery app. Apparently Thailand tastes a lot like the surface of the sun. While chugging a milk chaser, I realise I am fast departing from the conventional pre-rockshow hype up.
Cath initiated toddler bedtime. I considered rockshow pre-drinks, but went with post-Thai ice-cream bowl instead. A pang of jealousy nipped me as I glanced into my son’s bedroom; buried neck deep in pillows clutching a milky night cap. Soon to be asleep.
Anticipating a delayed start due to annoying opening acts, I wondered if I should prepare a hip flask. Naturally, I went with a tupperware of ginger biscuits and brownies instead.
Arrival at Grand West Casino.
We rolled along with the tide of Capetonians moving toward the arena. After making enquiries with a guard, we were informed that anything cold in a cup was considered low risk enough to be allowed into the venue. This is not good news.
What will I dunk my rock hard ginger biscuit into?
We make our way to our seats. Literally the back row but one. Cath says what I’m thinking “Ugh, I hope we don’t have to stand up and ‘jive’ during the show”. Cath initiates a pre-nap.
I do what anyone else would before the lights dim. Try and work out how much money was made in ticket sales that evening.
However due to our distant placement, the scale of the venue and the after-effect of a cup of beer I’m battling to do the requisite maths. 17 rows in a pyramid, 25 seats in the first row, 12 seats in the last… total seats equals… Nevermind. Looks like about a hundred people per third of a block, 300 total…multiplied by blocks in room (can’t see back corner because wife asleep on shoulder). Rough estimate R2.5mil.
Suddenly a selfie video of a grandma is playing. Then more bad recordings of people trying to define freedom. Movement on stage. In the distance, a tiny man is swearing at society in Irish. Then a familiar guitar hook interrupts the liberal monologue. The show has begun!
8:45pm. After an half an hour of great music and no jiving even my watch warns that I should “Move!”.
Kudos to The Script. They battled a definite malaise in the crowd and got us all up and jiving by the end of the show.
