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Madonna - London Earls Court - July 6th 2001 |
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OK, so we get to Earls Court with plenty of time to spare - the crowds aren't too bad, except round the merchandising stalls where it takes me 10 minutes to buy a t-shirt (20 quid, black, quite tasteful). Bob and I grab a beer each and head inside. My first emotion is one of relief - the venue isn't as vast as I remember it (Bowie, 1978 - we had a crap view and needed binoculars). Our seats are at the very top of the lower raised area, row Z, which puts us a bit under halfway up the height of the auditorium. We're about two thirds of the way back, maybe a bit less, to the right of the stage. Good clear view of the stage, and the best bit is that we're at the top of the gangway - our two seats (59 & 60) don't exist on any of the lower rows, which all jump from 58 to 61. So there's no-one in front of us, and no-one behind us - plenty of room to jump around - great. We settle in. |
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The hall slowly fills, and a few people are confused about which row is which. A couple below us are shown to their seats by an usher - "Which one is row Z?" - they are shown to the row below us. We helpfully intervene: "No, you're a row out - this is row Z, the back row, where we are". The usher disagrees: "No, the back row is AA. You must be in the wrong seats. Let me see your tickets." We hand them over. There's a problem - our seats don't exist. Z69 & Z60 are the gaps in the next row down. The usher says he'll have to talk to someone, and leaves - taking our tickets with him. |
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Gulp. We wait. And wait. There are more problems just to our left - some people are double booked on the same seats. The usher returns with a senior official. He tells us and the double booked people to follow him out to the ticket office in order to be reseated. We follow him down, out of the arena and into the outer lobby area. This does not feel good. We bought the tickets at an inflated price from "ticket brokers" - a bunch of dodgy sounding geezers who strung us along for weeks before finally posting our tickets (branded from Ticketmaster) on the week of the show - we'd only got them 3 days earlier. What if they're forgeries? What if we're not being "reseated" at all, but gently coaxed out of the arena, with a minimum of fuss, in order to be thrown out of the venue altogether? On the other hand, what if the Earls Court staff are getting mixed up, and we were in the correct seats all along? |
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Bob speaks to the official, telling him that we reckon we know perfectly well where we're supposed to be sitting, and that the usher was getting confused. The official says, "No problem - if you know where you're supposed to be, then go back inside". He hands back our tickets and we turn round - relieved but by now totally confused - and trot back in, deciding to avoid the original usher if we can. We find a friendly looking usherette, show her our tickets and ask to be shown to our seats. She leads us back up the gangway to the same seats - both still empty, even with the arena now around 90% full. She looks confused - those seats are row AA, ours are row Z, what should she do? Luckily for us, she turns out to be from the "couldn't give a f---" school of ushering. She shrugs her shoulders and walks off, and we settle back into our seats. If nobody else shows up with row AA tickets, then we'll be OK. We get chatting to a bunch of friendly dykes on the row below, who are also having problems with their tickets. I ask where they bought them, and they give slightly evasive replies: "From an agency." "Well, it does say Ticketmaster on the tickets." "They cost a lot of money." Could we all be victims of the same dodgy scam, I wonder - then tell myself not to be so suspicious. Everything will be fine. |
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The senior official returns. We look the other way, studiedly casual. He ignores us and speaks to the group of women. Some of them, but not all, are asked to follow him out of the hall for the dreaded "reseating". One of them hisses a friendly warning to us as she leaves: "Just keep your mouths shut!" We do... |
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There's about 2 minutes to go. The cheering and chanting has started. Yet another group of punters are walking up the gangway towards us. As with the many dozens before them, we silently will them to stop at a lower row - it has worked well so far. But our luck is out. "Excuse me, we're looking for row AA, seats...." We graciously yield. What now? |
| We decide to try and catch up with the senior official and the ousted women, who left less than a minute ago. We head down to the exit, but they've already left the arena and must be out in the lobby, heading for the ticket office. There is no way we want to leave the arena at this late stage, without a guarantee of getting back in again. We confer with the "couldn't give a f---" usherette, but by now it's mayhem - Mexican waves, stomping, the lot - she looks nervous and completely stuck for what to do. The lights go down. The crowd all rise to their feet. |
| It's difficult to remember what happens next, in all the confusion, noise and stress, but somehow we end up going back up to the gap where our seats should have been. Bob calmly and politely explains the situation to the people behind us, where we had been sitting, and asks if it's all right to stand in front of them. They're friendly and sympathetic, and say "no problem". The opening notes of "Drowned World/Substitute For Love" strike up. The show begins. |
