Master Of Tickets

Terrible title. I think my ability to think of witty and humorous titles to these posts is dwindling. Plus the fact that I'm sitting at my desk surrounded by non-believers in the metal cause makes it a bit tricky to be inspired...oh, the drama.

So WTF? I hear you ask in text speak. Sitting at my desk the other day and T-Bone, my work colleague who has always wished for a good nickname, mentioned that the forthcoming Metallica tour tickets were going on sale at 9am. This was about 8:45am. Now don't get me wrong, I think Metallica are a phenomenal band - "S&M" appears regularly on the ol' MP3, I even like "St. Anger", dare I say it! Anyway, I digress. I thought I'd give Shithouse a bell (see "Who Needs Friends...", June 30th) as after our recent Maiden experience at Twickenham, I thought he might be going to see Hetfield et all.

He answered the phone but I could barely hear him over the stereo in the background. What was he playing? Metallica. If ever there were to be a sign, this was it. He was up for it in a big way. Plus, as he pointed out, Machine Fucking Head are supporting which is a major draw for MADman. So it was settled: I'd buy 4 tickets and we'd reunite the Maiden Twickenham cartel for a Metallica shindig.

£200-odd later, our seats at the O2 on March 2nd are confirmed. Seats. Fuckin' SEATS! Better than nothing. I'm sure we'll manage to muscle our way down to the pit somehow. I've never seen these guys before so the prospect of the crowd pleasers is pretty exciting. I just hope that Nothing Else Matters is the same sitting in a plastic seat with plenty of space as it would be getting crushed to death by 20,000 overweight, denim-wearing sweat boxes.

In the meantime, if you meet one of the c*nts who got hold of standing tickets and put it for sale at double face value straight away, a short, sharp kick to the genitals would be much appreciated by my good self...