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Saturday, February 16, 2008

Purple HayesIt's Darren Hayes, possessed by the devil, and trying to lay hands on a bald man's head. Possibly to cure his unfortunate hair loss. Popstars, they're so out of control. No wonder photography was banned at the Barfly last night.

Anyhoo, I'm pleased to say that I successfully delivered Lisa's Valentine's gift to her yesterday by packing her onto a bus and taking her to a pub to see a washed-up Australian has-been sing a few songs for thirty quid a time. Well I say thirty quid. The tickets were only £27.50, but by the time they've added on booking fees, service charges, postage and anything else they think they can get away with, you're looking at £63.25 the pair. Lisa may be worth it, but I'm not sure Darren is.

I'll say one thing for Darren Hayes though: he has a fantastic voice. If only his time-keeping and grasp of finances were as good. I seriously wonder if he thinks Australian Dollars are the same as British Pounds. Having already paid more to get into a Brighton pub than it's cost me to buy two tickets for Matchbox Twenty at Wembley Arena in May, we eventually made it through the doors of The Gloucester and past the signs banning cameras, only to be confronted by the official merchandise stand which was merrily flogging t-shirts for £20, mugs for £10, and a set of three button badges for £4. Mind you, someone had clearly forgotten to turn on the heating, and it was so cold in there I was tempted to spend forty quid on a couple of t-shirts just to keep warm. In the end though I decided I'd get more heat by simply burning the contents of my wallet.

Anyhoo, take a look at this ticket...

Just the Ticket
Now, does that or does that not say 7:30pm? I realise that the main star doesn't usually come on at the exact time stated on the ticket, but that's because they usually have a support act. Sadly Darren didn't flog enough t-shirts to be able to afford a support act. For thirty quid you just get him and a microphone. So you'd expect him to come on stage at about... 7:45?... 8pm? Nope, ten past nine. Me, Lisa and the dozens of others who had been queuing outside in the freezing cold at 7:30pm felt pretty foolish an hour and a half later when we were still standing around waiting for something to happen. But still, having given up drinking four months ago, what better way for Lisa to spend an evening than by missing two episodes of Coronation Street to sit in a pub looking at an empty stage for ninety minutes.

Anyway, Darren did eventually turn up, though the combination of a small stage and the fact that he's only about five foot tall, meant that we could barely see him. To me he looked more like Simon Pegg crossed with Rufus Hound (both of whom I'd rather have gone to see). Then there were the people standing next to us who wouldn't stop yakking all the way through. I heard a lot more of them than Darren's singing. But what I did hear wasn't bad. He didn't do the only Savage Garden song I actually know, but hey, why bother singing your only worldwide chart-topping smash hit, when you can perform a load of your recent solo stuff which hasn't sold.

Well, I say it hasn't sold. Lisa bought a CD on the way out, so it's obviously just me who wasn't impressed.