Gloat

I had high plans of watching Ian Anderson live in concert. And then, on the afternoon of the 3rd, when I opened the door of the hostel room to head for a bath, and there he was. On the corridor. Less than five metres away from me. So JJ and I gaped at him for about three minutes, until he finished talking to whoever it was that he was talking to, and then entered his room - less than five metres away from our room. And then - and only then - did I realise that I had been standing all this while in my t-shirt and my towel.
Many glimpses of The Man were had through the rest of the day, and we actually clapped and cheered and generally embarrassed ourselves when he left the room to go up on stage.
And after the show - which we watched from the staircase, the mound next to the concert field, on the screen from the balcony to our rooms, and so on (better views from all these places than if we had actually gone in, I might add), we got autographs, and I gushed like the broken spout of a full kettle. And though I am yet to lay my hands on the photograph and the video clip in which Ian Anderson has his arm around my shoulder, and twenty seven million of my teeth are on display, it will happen soon.
So, not only did I watch Ian Anderson live in concert for free, I even got an autograph and photographs. I don't thing I can rub that in hard enough.
Don't you just hate me right now?