My First Night at the Opera.

My First Night at the Opera.

Yep. That’s why I was going to Glasgow: the opera.

And you know what?

It was AWESOME.

I didn’t know what I was going to think about it. I wasn’t really excited or dreading it. It was my dad who got me the tickets. He drunkenly texted me asking if I would like to see Andrea Bocelli and since I don’t see my dad all that much I replied, ‘yeah, I’d love to see her!’.

When the concert began my first thought was oh, she’s a man. 

I’m such an uncultured swine.

Then I thought shit, I’m going to have to sit through 4 hours of this.

Then I thought, all these women are so beautiful. AND they can sing. Their long hair MUST be extensions. 

Then I looked at my BF who seemed to really like the girl in the tight, red dress and I thought, why doesn’t he just close his mouth and marry her.

But THEN I started to get into it.

(And my double vodka started to sink in).

I actually knew most of the songs! I realised that HE was the one who played all those big, belter, romantic, Italian songs we all know!!!! Like, the dude who sings Ave Maria!!!!!

There were a lot of songs about a Maria, actually. He must have had some good times with this Maria.

So yeah, I started to get into it. I like listening to songs that I don’t really understand because it makes it nice and easy to daydream. When the interval came on I was in a little pub in Cornwall, sitting by a fire with a glass of wine and writing my sixth novel. I was really good friends with the pub owner too and he would give me free food. I was pretty good friends with the entire village, actually.

Enjoying my time in Cornwall, I was then most disgruntled when my family made me leave my cosy pub to go to the busy bar and get us drinks.

I was even more disgruntled that after struggling back to our seats with quite a few pints, my brother didn’t even return because he’d met a girl somewhere! He MISSED the whole second half! And I was really worried because I thought he’d OD’d in a bathroom (I have an overactive imagination).

But in between my panic attacks, I settled down and got back to Cornwall. One song made me cry, which was a little embarrassing.

And we met up with my brother in the taxi queue so it was all ok in the end.

(I like the way ‘queue’ is spelled. It’s like the ue’s are in a queue).

All that’s on today’s agenda is a big ass breakfast and then I guess I’ll just continue to eat away my anxieties.

(I’ve got another job now – a Monday to Friday one – and the Sunday blues are hitting me hard).

Tattie bye!

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