2005-02-16 - 11:39 p.m.

Someone said to me a while ago that it's impossible to buy gig tickets for their face value.

I was reminded of that yesterday when I tried to buy tickets for two concerts at The Forum on the interwebnet. Once upon a time �15 was �15. Now �15 is �15 plus �2 booking fee. Plus �1.50 postage. And the booking fee for two tickets for two different gigs is more, presumably to compensate the good employees of Ticketmaster for the extra stress of having to perform their high-pressure tearing-some-printed-card-down-its-perforations operation not once, but twice. Or perhaps it's in recognition of the intensive training and highly specialised skills involved in putting said printed card in an envelope and posting it to Joe Schmuck, Rippedoff Towers, Shafton.

So I resolved to strike a blow for my fellow shaftees and buy the tickets in person.

They sell tickets for Forum gigs at its sister venue, The Astoria. Entering The Astoria is a grim prospect. Heavy, steel-latticed doors allow virtually no daylight into the black-painted lobby. Across the sticky carpet and up a step on the far side is the pokey box office. In the box office, two women are printing out what appear to be about a bazillion tickets for a gig by Glen someone. Until this hypnotic operation is over and the women struggle out of their zen state, I am ignored. So far 1-0 to internet sales.

"You sell tickets for The Forum, don't you?"
"Yes."
"One for The Fall and one for British Sea Power please"
"I'll have to do them seperately"
"OK"
"The Fall....that's �15 please."
I hand over �20 in cash, not wishing to risk a last-minute credit card charge slip-up. I am getting this fucker for the price on the ticket.
"Sorry about the change."
She hands me the ticket - and ten 50p pieces. At home, my computer looks smug.
"Right." she says."British Sea Power...that's �14"
We both know what's coming next. I hand her a �10 note, and eight of the 50p pieces she's just given me.
"Sorry about the change." I say.
"Ha ha."
Yeah. Right there. That's what makes it all worthwhile.

Try lightening Ticketmasturbator's day with a jokey exchange. See how far that gets you. Sorry - your banter could not be processed. Please try again later.

Now infused with the spirit of actual physical retail shopping, I went to a record shop. Here though, the internet slipped another fart cushion onto my throne of revolution. I wanted 5 cds. I couldn't find a single one. Now of course you could try and order online and find the stuff you want is out of stock, but at least you don't get sweaty, and have to avoid Germans looking for Queen boxsets while you do it. And the superwebway will at least tell you something's out of stock, whereas according to Virgin at Piccadilly Circus, none of The Arcade Fire, The Go! Team, Rufus Thomas, Joanna Newsom or Ike and Tina Turner even existed. There wasn't so much as a plastic divider bearing their name to be found. Then I realised I was in Lillywhite's Sports Goods shop. Ha ha, no I didn't. Then I asked a nice man who consulted the stocklist and informed me that somewhere in the store there was a single copy of two of the CDs I wanted. If they weren't on the shelves they could at that very moment by in someone's hand on the way to the tills, or be lying abandoned at one of the listening posts. At home, my computer chuckled softly and gripped its lapels like a Victorian mill owner.

My remaining choices were apparently to be located in the dance section. Where I obviously never go. Being 36, white and Jewish. But I found it and took the Go! Team CD to the till. And here actual physical retail shopping reasserted its authority over e-scum-sucking. The assistant took the CD from me, but before putting it in the bag, frowned and opened it.

"I'm just checking the disc's in there. It's very light."
"Maybe it's constructed of a new light material" I suggested, for I truly am the undisputed banter-weight champion of the world. Somebody stop me!
"Yes, or it's got a rubbish booklet."

He was right. The insert in the Go! Team CD was a lame one-folded-page effort. I realised then that this young man handled CDs all day and was thus so attuned to their weight that he could instinctively tell if an insert booklet was a couple of pages lighter than the average.

Think the facless Amazon robots could pull off that trick? Eh? All right, maybe they've got faces.

So. In the sprit of rejecting all form of cyber transaction, I thought it only fair to tell you that from now on I will be handwriting this diary and delivering it to each reader in person.

Profilage - Previosity - Nextitude