Monday was due to be whiskey day in honour of Ryan Adams. As I am too skint to afford tickets to his Bridgewater Hall show, I planned to casually hang out in any place a self-respecting rock star visiting Manchester might go (last time he was around he went to Piccadilly Records and the Koffee Pot), and should I casually bump into him, use any wit and charm at my disposal to get guestlisted for the gig. Well the plan was mainly to drink single malts at the Temple and Britons Protection with the excuse that he might pop in.
Alas my plan was thwarted by an e-mail Monday morning, “And now the bad news: The deadline for the next issue has been brought forward to this Friday.” Rubbish. So I have been chained to my eMac ever since, Ryan on the stereo and a consolotary sip of Springbank passing my lips for every 200 words written.
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1 comments:
What a tragic tale of woe. We must make up for it by drinking lots of whiskey sometime soon.
I'm so glad you're bloggin' again. And what was that myspace link you posted in the comments - very cryptic ...
Yours in haste,
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