Well, it’s established – Ticketmaster are utter, utter cunts.

Thank you for your email.

The tickets you have received are part of an event that is general admission and as such the event has a limited capacity, which is set by Health and Safety. Ticketmaster is unable to issue duplicate tickets for this event as it may cause the event to go over capacity, as we are unable to cancel the original tickets, therefore they can still be used.

This is a decision that is made by the individual venue and Ticketmaster as an agent has to adhere to this. If the venue goes over capacity, the venue could lose its license, which could jeopardise all future events, due to this we cannot re-issue your tickets.

Ticketmaster’s policy is that once a booking has been confirmed, it cannot be exchanged or refunded unless the event is cancelled. So unfortunately we cannot issue you with a refund of the cost of the tickets. Due to these reasons i have passed on a request to our customer service department to contact Secure Mail to investigate this situation. In doing this we will try and make a claim against Secure Mail to refund your booking.

Our representative from customer services will contact you as soon as possible regarding the outcome of the investigation.

I am sorry i cannot help you any further.

So – you ordered tickets, we sent them to the wrong address, where they were signed for by someone obviously not you. That’s your fault. You should’ve known that we’d use a courier ‘service’ (I use that term as loosely as possible) instead of using recorded delivery royal mail like we did for the Massive Attack tickets (which, funny enough, came straight to me, no problem at all) and gone back to your old address for the day when we were going to deliver them.

A refund? Fuck off. It’s all your fault.

And I suppose it is. After all, I ordered using Ticketmaster. My mistake. But believe me, I’ll never make the same mistake again, you cunts.

Over the weekend, I had quite a strange experience.

Many moons ago (Many, many, many moons ago) I worked at a hotel in Rugby, Warwickshire. Every so often, I’ve thought about getting back in touch with the people who’d been there, or alternatively just going back for a revisit. (Yes, I’ve thought about revisiting other ex-workpaces as well, but haven’t previously mentioned this one)

Anyway, when I got to the hotel I was staying at on Saturday, I leafed through a magazine that was in the room about good food and drink in the area – and in there, the general manager of the Rugby hotel has a column. It turned out that he was working for another hotel in the area – well, about 40 minutes away from where I was.

So on the Sunday morning, I drove over, on the off-chance. I figured why not, I’m in the area, blah blah.

Anyway, it turned out that he’d left just before Christmas – but then his father, who had been the owner of the one in Rugby, walked in instead. He owned this place too, and so his son had been the general manager. But we caught up, and talked for about half an hour all told.

It was a really pleasant time, and was something I’m glad I did. But all the same, weirder than weird!