Last Thursday I sat down and ordered myself a shed-load of tickets. Mainly for the Barbican and the Royal Festival Hall, although a rather expensive one for Josep Carreras at the Royal Albert Hall . I said to Jimmy "It's midweek, I know you don't like Spanish Tenors, and, as it costs rather a lot of English tenners, I've ordered one just for myself..." (I'm now anxious, because I understand he's not that great these days, and I have forked out rather a lot of undodgy English tenners to be satisfied with a dodgy Spanish Catalonian tenor).
None of the tickets had arrived by this morning, admittedly in line with the published policy of all venues, but the RFH and Barbican tend, in my experience, to send them out by return of post. I also hadn't received my New Statesman last Friday, and had no post whatsoever on Saturday.
I rang up the RFH today and explained the situation, adding that I realise it is premature, but with the Barbican and New Statesman also going astray I was a bit worried. She said that they are due to be posted, but as the first one isn't for a few weeks, they will have gone out second class, and if they don't turn up to get in touch.
I wondered if I should go and knock on the neighbours. We have two sets of new neighbours, both renting. The Aussies are really sweet and invited us to their barbie, which we didn't attend, but appreciated their maners. Plus the fact that it was entirely non-intrusive - just a waft of conversation and a murmur of music that quietened by dark. The Portuguese are pleasant, and I am now used to their occasional passionate door-bangy differences of opinion at od hours of day and night. Jimmy has them a prime suspects for nicking the most succulent buds from our his cannabis plant.
Nevertheless I am nervous of door-banging and asking in a non-confrontational way "Do you have my post?" In a perfect world, we would redistribute post with alacrity; in the Real World, Round Tuit intrudes.
A few minutes ago, my New Statesman and my Barbican tickets appeared through the door. I opened the front door and called out 'Thank You'* I saw the charming but volatile Bulgarian landlord of next door (the Japanese guy claimed he beat him and denied him access to the house, in which were his clothes, credit cards, passport etc, so he slept in the car - Jimmy took him to the cafe for breakfast - he returned a few days later to settle up, which Jimmy hadn't expected). He was acknowledging my thanks. Perhaps H&M the Portuguese are away: I haven't heard them for a few days - he's a Musician, but as I explained to my middle-aged Irish neighbour, not in the sense we would say 'musician'. I'm now anxious, because maybe H&M aren't very good at Round Tuit on the postal front.
* remember, despite evidence to the contrary, I am a Nice Person
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