Tonight my darling better half and I are off to see Derek Acorah‘s live show at the Royal Concert Hall. Mister Acorah is a spiritualist medium…oy…so if I manage to survive without running really hard at the wall with my head down (a crude method of taking one’s life I admit, but hey, if you run fast enough…) then I shall blog about the show itself tomorrow. To be blunt I think the whole medium thing is a lot of bollocks – my dear better half only watches the TV show Acorah is on, Most Haunted, because she says it is the best laugh she has had in ages.
Now I don’t know about you but if I had the choice between watching Yvette Fielding wailing in a dark room like a demented background character on Scooby Doo and watching some paint dry, it’d be some popcorn and and a hearty “bring on the dulux!” from me.
You see, when I was out Christmas shopping for her I noticed the wonderful Acorah had a show on and in a spirit of frivolity and seized by a silly idea, I bought her a couple of tickets thinking she would take someone else. A good night out would be had by her and a mate and I would come off looking great in the process as the man who made it all happen. Sorted.
I now see the hole in that plan. Two tickets, she says, two of us, problem solved, right?
Bugger.
And yes, before you point it out, it has occurred to me that Derek Acorah could probably have told me that was going to happen.