My Bruce Journey - Part 43

‘You can't start a fire worrying about your little world falling apart’

I have already published this week’s post and I toyed with the idea of waiting until next week to put this one out… but the moment will have passed by then so here it is.

Mike’s last job involved helping staff who had problems either with work itself or perhaps stuff going on in their private lives.  He has many counselling skills and has taken an interest in various types of therapy and self help.

Among his discoveries is Paul McGee who is The SUMO Guy. Basically when something bad happens we are allowed to have some hippo time.  Some time to wallow in self pity but then SHUT UP and MOVE ON.  The theory is (I think) that giving yourself permission to feel sorry for yourself lets you get it out of your system.  Then you just have to give yourself a slap and tell yourself to get on with life.

Anyway at the moment I am having some hippo time.  Bruce came to London and we didn’t go to see him - I’m sure he is gutted!

We don’t do The Pit and we have never been the sort of people who hang around stage doors.  Don’t get me wrong, if that’s your thing I don’t have a problem with it but, for me, it would feel like I am either interrupting his pre-concert preparation or bugging him when he is knackered.

I couldn’t do the loitering around his hotel thing either.  I was so down in the dumps yesterday that Mike suggested, only half jokingly, that we caught an early train to London and waited outside Claridge’s.  To me that verges on stalking although I don’t rule out resorting to this tactic one day!

The upshot of this is that I have never been nearer than a couple of hundred feet away.  He’s about the size of a gnat whenever we see him live.  The exception being the one time at Hyde Park when he disappeared from view for a few seconds then appeared again on a platform possibly only 30 feet away for about 20 seconds.

The thing about The Promise’s London Premiere was that is was legitimate, acceptable, we were expected to be there.    Bruce was making a public appearance.  The red carpet was out and he was there to meet the fans.  There wasn’t even a whiff of stalking. 
I could have bought tickets.  It’s only a few hours drive down the M1 and we didn’t go.

When the O2 tickets went on sale for the Magic tour we got two seats up in the Gods.  Jane, Mike’s cousin, then said she would like to come and, whilst I was trying to find a ticket for her, two came up in the lower tier right near the stage.  I hesitated because I was only looking for a single seat and that hesitation cost me the best seats I have ever been offered.  I haven’t forgiven myself for that and this is ten times worse.

In all the years I have been following Bruce it has brought me nothing but pleasure but today I wish I wasn’t a fan.  I wish I didn’t care because then I wouldn’t feel so bad.

A big black cloud is hanging over me at the moment and I can’t shake the feeling that I passed up my ONE chance to shake Bruce’s hand.

So for the rest of the day I will be a hippo… and then I’ll SHUT UP AND MOVE ON.