Saturday, 9 June 2007

My George Michael gig from hell

Just back. Still breathless. Wow! Or should that be...Wham!

Michael Foster (Chris Evans' rottweiler agent) rang this afternoon and invited me to Wembley to soak up the George Experience and 'talk about Chris'. What a great opportunity to get back into the limelight and stop moping at home. He has no idea that I'm actually a closet Wham! fan...

Foster is desperate to get Chris onto the Youth Channel and back in the Big Time. Little does he know that the only chance Chris has of ever getting on My Channel is if he invented a time machine to take him back to Britpop circa 1996. Or introduced me to Ginger Spice, whichever came first.

Obviously I can't tell Foster this; he has the bedside manner of an incontinent dog and the breath of a pirate. In fact he terrifies the fuck out of me!!

Before leaving I dug out my old Wham! limited edition sleeveless white t-shirt and sniffed it longingly... how I wish I could have worn it to the gig, but sadly, this was a networking event so it had to be a jacket, vest and ripped jeans for me.

Everything was going swimmingly well in the VIP lounge. Chris and I were sharing a few witty one liners. The champagne was flowing. But then disaster struck..... who should walk in the door but Mark fucking Thompson (my boss!) and his MILFy wife. He sauntered right up to Foster to chat (apparently they go way back). Ten minutes later still no acknowledgement. My own fucking boss didn't even give me a second glance! They were so deep in conversation I think I could see Foster's head completely buried up Thompson's arse.

This put a serious downer on the evening for me, which was only helped (barely) by the magical George and his marvellous magical music. Sigh.

What would I do without Club Tropicana to pick me up at times like these?


thegirl said...

For some reason I'm very intrigued about the aroma of a pirate's mouth. Still, better that, than imagining the incontinent dog's breath, I suppose.

Surely someone in your position would have easy access to a variety of 'pick me ups'? I understood TV was full of coke-snorting wankers?

Anonymous said...

"I understood TV was full of coke-snorting wankers?"

No, that is British commercial radio ...

Anonymous said...

Ha, ha ha. Just read this entry, hilarious!

I can just picture you as a mawkish, 17 year old social inadequate, dancing around in the bedroom of your parent’s lower middle class, Edgware/Stanmore boarders semi.

What did you listen to back then, just Club Tropicana? Or had you gravitated towards listen without prejudice!