I had a great weekend. It started with an evening out with my brother, Alex. He gave me some big news, which sadly meant that his wife couldn’t go to the Bruce Springsteen gig at Wembley with him the next day. Alex is a massive Springsteen fan, so – as a favour to him, you understand – I agreed to keep him company.
That’s how I found myself standing in the biblical rain on Saturday at 12 o’clock queueing to get armbands for the front of the stadium, swiftly followed by a few hours warming up and drying off in an indian restaurant we’d been avariciously eyeing from the queue.
A few hours and several drinks later we barrelled into the stadium to let The Boss entertain us. This isn’t a review, so I’m not going to go into the pros (and the sole ‘con’ – a problem with acoustics in the stadium). We found the sweet spot and it was incredible. This is a man who knows his craft. He loves the work, he feels the music. The lyrics are his life. If you’ve never seen him, go next time you have a chance.
Sunday was Father’s Day, so I spent it with my kids. They’d made me a cake, cards and generally made me feel like I might be doing okay with them.
But all that means I haven’t written a blog post for today. So you’ll have to make do with this weekend autobiography – an insight into me, and wait until tomorrow for something I’ve had to think about before writing.
Ollieopath 