Hestia ....and Justin Currie

Relax, this isn't going to be a replica of When Hestia Met Paolo.  There was no pressing of the flesh, but I was still well within hormone affecting distance.

So, Nero and Sonshine were duly dropped off at My Day Carer and her husband (The Grass Fairy). Tartarus and I turned joyful Solstice faces towards Glasgow and set off on the ferry.  In fact, everything went entirely according to plan - the accommodation I had booked was expecting us! We got a car parking space right outside!  The studio apartment was luffly!  We had tons of time  to get to the gig!

We decided to walk.

Not an error in itself, but it took us a goodly half an hour, strolling down Great Western Road, sweaty joggers puffing past us, taxi drivers tooting, people unsure whether to drive in the bus lane or not....all the usual stuff.



We arrived at Oran Mor with 30 minutes to spare.  I immediately clocked an actor from my favourite Scottish TV soap - Stevie The Barman from River City.  If you haven't watched it, please do.  It's more a weekly drama than a soap - and loads more fun than Eastenders.

I was SO going to get my photo taken with him....After all, I am wearing my Lucky Pants.

We press past the throngs of people who were in the beer garden outside the pub.  Strappy tops, tans, short skirts and high heels abounded.  And you should have seen the girls! :-D

We inch in towards the bar.  Tartarus pats his shirt pocket.  And then pats down his trouser pockets. And then goes through his jacket pockets.

'What's wrong?' I ask.  Although it's fairly clear to all and sundry that he has Forgotten His Wallet.

Sure enough:   'I've forgotten my wallet'.

This is the first evidence for how I know my lucky pants aren't lucky.

I know that I have not a red cent on me and I do not have my handbag either because Bags are a drag at a gig.  I have made a point of telling Tartarus:  'I am not taking my handbag.  This means I am not taking my purse, ok?'

I do, however, have the tickets for the gig.

Tartarus has £2.60 on him.

He makes a decision - he will 'walk' back to the digs and get his wallet. Well, it's either that or we wilt like two-day old lettuce leaves at the gig.

I wave him goodbye and stomp my way down to the queue for the gig. Yeah, Stevie The Barman is just going to have to catch me on another day, when I have more than £2.60 on me.

This is the second bit of evidence that my lucky pants are not lucky.

Two ladies are standing in front of me, waiting excitedly for the doors to open.

'Is this the queue for Justin Currie?' I ask.  I do this all the time.  Because the one time I didn't do it, we ended up in the queue for Jessie J, before she became MASSIVE.  We looked like the grandparents of the rest of the queue.

The two ladies nodded.

Would Tartarus manage to get to the digs and back in 30 minutes?

Reader, he WAS.

Now, a few words by way of a review.  If you don't know who Justin Currie is, he WAS (IS) the lead singer with Del Amitri.  They had a string of hits that began when I was at university and so their music forms important stitches in the tapestry of my life.

Currie has one of the finest voices you will ever hear - it's like Nuttella for the ears - smooth, deep, sweet.  And as a lyricist his lines can politically chide you, caress you and take your wretched heart and squeeze it through a wringer.  Get a ticket or spend the rest of your life regretting it.





My face is always wet with tears when he sings Driving With The Brakes On


This is Tartarus's favourite, and it IS pretty wonderful.  I wonder, am I the woman lying in bed 20 miles away or am I his downfall tonight? I suspect the former, but you know what? As long as I've got The Killing on Netflix I don't much care :-)

And I didn't get to meet him.  The third and final reason that I know my lucky pants are just ..... PANTS!