I now have no reason to want the time between now and next June to pass even remotely slowly.
Mickey, the broker on the Mall, rang this morning with the productivity-shattering news that he got us tickets to AC/DC.
But on a side note, I am likely to die at that same concert.
I'm quite tall, you see. Very, very tall in fact. In most day-to-day activities, such as driving and shopping for mushrooms, my height isn't a problem.
At concerts, however, we have an issue. Sometimes it's good, sometimes not so.
At The Police, the crowd parted a big V behind me.
At U2, an aged gentleman got narky.
At Kanye West (x2) pretty girls from Northern Ireland asked me to help locate their lost friends.
But the Young brothers are standard bearers for midget pride the world over, and I expect that their gigs are popular with the vertically challenged.
Imagine being a five foot one inch man, struggling all your life to be taken seriously. Imagine looking up to Angus and Malcolm all that time, drawing inspiration from their deeds as little men in a big man's world.
Imagine giving your life's energies and talents to noble causes because you want to distract the world from the fact that you're a grown man but are still small enough to ride the Bumblebee at Chessington.
Imagine waiting all that time to see AC/DC play in Ireland, and when it finally happens there's a 6'8" lump from Limerick standing right in front of you.
I'd personally murder him with my 4-inch platforms.
Hopefully Bono is more of a pacifist.