With all this misery about the economy, I cheered up a little when someone told me the Wailers are playing in town tomorrow night.
Excellent, I thought. It’s a few years since I heard them. I’ll go to that.
But then I checked Dolans’ website and I saw that the tickets cost €27.
What? Twenty-seven euros?
It just seems a lot, somehow, to splash out on a whim. I wasn’t planning to spend much on a Tuesday night, and the €27 is before you get yourself a drink or a taxi or anything. The more I think about it, the less inclined I am to go, even though I would like to hear the Wailers again while we’re all still alive. Well, all alive except Bob, that is, but technically I suppose he wasn’t actually one of the Wailers anyway, was he?
In fact, the more I think about it, they aren’t really the Wailers any more, apart from Family Man. It’s like that breadknife we used to have when I was a kid. My father told me it was a hundred years old, the very same knife, and the handle was only changed twice though the blade was changed three times.
Anyway, we’re on the brink of the abyss, so what the hell am I thinking of? The government are selling my future to bail out a bunch of banking crooks while we sing and dance and have fun. Not good enough.
It’s time to get down to some serious misery. Try to find new ways of economising and raising a little money.
I think I’ll stay home and do something useful, like maybe finishing that bathroom I started about a year ago. Then I might flip through the small ads in my new copy of Organ Harvester Monthly.