FOO TO YOU, PAL

*Edit: After correspondences, Aiden has asked me to remove some passages from this post.*

I still remember the first concert my brother and I ever went to on our own. Back in the day, local radio station 96fm held a series of concerts. At the age of 12, I saw INXS, Ganggajang and Boom Crash Opera for the princely sum of $9.96.

By the time I was 15, I was a vet: I saw the Angels at the Entertainment Centre when I was 15, along with my girlfriend, my best friend, and my 12 year old brother, who achieved somewhat legendary status amongst my friends by virtue of falling asleep in the middle of the concert.

What’s all this got to do with anything? Well, Aiden is 15.

Up until the middle of last week, he was going to see The Foo Fighters in concert last night. He had two tickets. Things happened. Upshot: no tickets.

The concert was last night. Aiden’s first concert (okay, we won’t mention the free Vanessa Amorosi concert in the mall that his Mum took him to a few years back, or the Mentals concert earlier this year where he spent the entire time roaming the playground with mates. This was his first real 8000-of-us-all-together-in-a-giant-mosh-pit-in-a-whopping-great-stadium-with-the-smoke-and-the-light-show-and-the-support-bands-and-all-the-trimmings proper damn concert) and now he was going to miss out.

Fuck that.

The concert was sold out. I mean, duh, how long before a band this size comes back to Perth? I missed Pink Floyd in ’87 and they never came back. Madonna’s been once, and never again. Paul McCartney’s been once. Pearl Jam came on the back of their first album and then it was something like 15 years before they returned. Hell, even They Might Be Giants haven’t been back in over 6 years (Are you listening, John? John? Johns? Fellas?) We’re talking, potentially, once in a lifetime.

The ticket agency couldn’t help. Lyn’s brother Raymond used to work in venue security. Did he know anyone? Unfortunately, no. Lyn’s best friend’s daughter had mentioned a spare ticket a while back! Sold it. One by one, the possibilities dried up.

3pm, the day of the concert, a workmate turns to me: they might have a spare ticket. You still need one? Oh God, yes. Give her an hour, she’ll see what’s happening and call me. An hour later, she calls: no luck. The spare ticket has been promised to someone else after all. I’m disappointed, but grateful she tried. That’s it, really. I’m dry. Out of leads. Stick a fork in me and all that…

Lyn’s been trawling Ebay for some funky PJs for Connor. As a last resort, she decides to check for Foo Fighters tickets.

4.50pm. 2 hours before the concert starts, she finds one. 30 minutes drive away. Fuck me.

Aiden has it in his hands 45 minutes later. A couple whose babysitting options fell through that morning. It’s been on Ebay all day, 15 bucks cheaper than cost. Not a single bid, until us.

Is that providence, or what?

We were at the concert with 20 minutes to spare.

Was Aiden happy? Did he actually sing “I’ve got a golden ticket” as we drove up? 🙂

Aiden rocked out, and I sat in the Burswood Resort food hall for three hours: worked on some AHWA mentorship stuff, read from Sabine Baring-Gould’s The Book of Werewolves, and watched Newcastle down Sunderland 2-0 (shitbuggerbuggershit. Not that I care about Sunderland, but I have a triple digit IQ so I’m not allowed to be a Newcastle fan…).

Aiden left the concert half-deaf, clad in a tour t-shirt, and though he will refuse to admit it, fell asleep in the car on the way home. Yes. He was happy.

Engage smug mode……. smug mode engaged.