Tuesday 30 May 2017
In less than a month, I’m off to London. To see Adele. Live at Wembley Stadium. Yes, I saw Adele when she toured Australia. Of course, I did. She was outstanding, brilliant, amazing, incredible, worth every dollar that I paid for the tickets. I figured that since Adele was nice enough to travel all the way across the world to see us, the least I could do is reciprocate. So, I’m travelling all the way across the other side of the world to see Adele perform in her home city. It’s only fair, isn’t it? (That was a rhetorical question.)
I know there’ll be people from Switzerland, Germany, and the US in the crowd. And there’s bound to be others from the far reaches of the globe in attendance too. So, amongst 90 000 other people, I’m bound to get lost in the crowd. How will Adele know I’ve travelled all the way from Australia to see her perform? Should I make a tacky sign and hold it up when she’s nearby? Maybe wear a touristy shirt with an Aussie flag emblazoned on it? No . . . that’s not really me. Okay, maybe, maybe the tacky sign might be something I’d do, or would have done when I was younger. But I thought I’d go for the blog post angle. And here we are. So . . .
Hello Dear Adele,
It’s me. I was wondering if after all these years you’d like to meet, and maybe give me your autograph, take a photo, have a little chat about your awesomeness and the distance I’ve travelled to see you?
In case you skimmed over the above two paragraphs, I’m coming to London to see you perform at Wembley Stadium. The thing is, I’m coming all the way from Australia and, as you know from having visited us in February, it’s a mighty long way to travel for a concert. However, you’re worth the expense, time and distance.
So, here’s my ulterior motive for writing this letter/blog post: when you’re doing a sound check at Wembley, if you happen to see me loitering around outside the stadium, would you mind terribly stopping to have a photo with me, and giving me your autograph? Personally, I hate having my photo taken, but for someone like you (sorry, had to get a song pun or two in here!!) I’d make an exception. I really would.
Failing that, maybe we could chat at your show? I know you often stop and speak with interesting audience members. Unfortunately for me, there’s nothing fascinating about me, aside from the fact I’ve travelled from Australia . . . yeah, not gay, not a drag queen, not a drag king, not an Adele impersonator, not an activist – just a Drama teacher who now works as a substitute teacher, and who has a blog that doesn’t get a huge amount of traffic. Unless you count sarcasm as something fascinating. I’m good with sarcasm. I’m good at sarcasm.
Look, if you fancy something more private and away from the invasive press and paparazzi, why not pop over to my hotel and I’ll shout you a cuppa or two before, or after, sound check or the show? Aside from your concert, my itinerary is pretty open, so I’m free any time you might fancy a cuppa. Or a champagne. Or a G & T. Hey, bring the mister and your booger eater if you want. Teacher = reasonably good with booger eaters.
And I’m not above begging, y’know, if that will help. Mind you, if you need me to grovel, you will likely have to help me back up off my knees. I’m almost double your age, and the older you get, the more frequently bits of you don’t work properly any more, or you creak when you try to get up. Yeah, finding that out the hard way. And just think, you’ve got that to look forward to when you reach my age.
You’ll recognise me. I’ll be the short-ish woman with bleach blonde hair (probably have massive regrowth by the time I get to London), awesome tattoos and the Australian accent. And I’ll probably be wearing a shirt with your face on it. Or an Adidas one. And if we do happen to meet, I’ll either be rendered speechless, or you won’t be able to shut me the hell up. Either way.
One last thing. If, by some stroke of good fortune I do get to speak with you, I will need you to sign a waiver stating that you won’t divulge to anyone the contents of our discussion. It’s not for privacy reasons; more that I don’t want people to know just how badly I embarrassed and humiliated myself in front of you. After all, there are one or two people who actually think I’m cool-ish. Okay, fine. There’s really only one person who thinks I’m cool . . . and that’s my mum. Still counts though.
Hopefully, this letter/blog post makes it to you for your reading pleasure. Maybe you’ve got a little laugh out of it. Maybe you haven’t. I’ll likely never know. Hey, we could meet up and you could tell me what you thought of this post! Now there’s an idea. Take your time. Think about it. Get back to me before your Wembley shows. I’ll be waiting so, please don’t give me the cold shoulder. (Song pun number three. Oh, that’s one song pun from every album. Go me!).
Looking forward to seeing you at Wembley Stadium. Chookas for the opening show. I’ll be sure to wave when you pass by.
Danielle Monique B.A. B.Ed. (yes, I too think it’s funny that my university degrees spell out Babed!)