me and mrs carter…

By amy ~ February 21st, 2013 @ 10:38 pm

beyonce :DThis evening’s post comes courtesy of Virgin West Coast’s onboard wifi – I am winging my way to Glasgow as we speak, and having survived the freezing temperatures on the platform at Preston especially, the final leg is well underway and touchdown ought to be in half an hour or so…

Today’s most exciting news is that I (to my disbelief) managed, and with relatively little fuss, to get past what is now politely called the ‘Waiting Room’ (rather than just the screen that appears when you can’t get through to the one you want) and grab myself a ticket to see my very very favourite Beyoncé on tour in May – woohoo! It goes without saying that I’m hoping to find out where she got that outfit.

Given the hit and miss nature of the supplied broadband at my Isle of Man digs, my hopes were not high and I had envisaged the chances of even getting onto the ticket-selling site at all as being pretty slim, unlike the fabulously womanly Mrs Carter herself (and also myself – having started the week with the best intentions, and then yesterday troughed industriously through a three piece Original Recipe KFC number avec gravy (no biscuit sadly, since this is not yet New York), followed it with a large cappuccino and a wodge of carrot cake the size of a halfbrick at the Costa Coffee up the road and then today made up for a lengthy gap between breakfast and teatime with a trip to Burger King. And as of ten minutes or so ago, a pretty all-encompassing selection from the Light Bites trolley in First Class).

As luck would have it, Manxnet shoved me excitedly through the magic ticket-purchasing door at roughly 0941 and within a couple of minutes I was the proud bearer of a top whack seat and an immediately-depleted bank account; I was less than delighted to find that my special for-treats-only platinum American Express card was not acceptable to the folk at ‘Eventim’ and the only way for me to pay for a ticket costing a three figure sum (once the £8.50 booking fee and £7.50 special delivery postage (extremely effectively promoted by the first-time-for-everything school of scaremongery marketing) is by Visa Debit, in other words using Real Money Right Now. Yikes.

So after all the excitement it was time to have my traditional End Of Tour bath, pack up my bits and get back on the road, and that was over ten hours ago – needless to say I’ll keep this brief as I’m fairly pooped (and not a little full) but in terms of the usual practicalities, my call blocker will be on all weekend, and the way to contact me is by email; my work phone is with me, but it will not be accompanying me to watch horror films for two days solid and therefore, unusually, texting will be an equally pointless exercise. I will be home on Sunday evening, whereupon normal service will be resumed (in as much as it ever is), and there are a couple of appointments available on both Monday and Tuesday before I head off for New York later in the week (yay!) Once again, phoning and texting is not the way to secure them.

Before I head off (and a new pod-hotel discovery awaits), a quick wave to the handful of new readers over in Manhattan, who are probably wondering what and where the Isle of Man is, how one troughs and what happens at a horror film festival in Scotland in the middle of winter; don’t worry! I’ll tell you when I get there…
offtoglasgow

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2 Responses to me and mrs carter…

  1. IS

    Hi there sexy lady; just read your recent blog. My question is how do you eat like that and still continue to look to look so stunning?

    Perhaps you should bottle and sell your secret.

    Regards

  2. amy

    Why thank you :)

    Unfortunately I look far from stunning at the moment, having just got in from two solid days of sitting in a dark (and by now fairly smelly) cinema and four of eating rubbish. Fortunately I have another four to resurrect myself into a state fit to be seen by the real world.

    If I had a secret, I think it’s probably to know when to stop – the people who run into problems are the ones who can only ever remember where to start and forget the next bit.

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