I left work half an hour early to get to the studio well before the 6:30 doors, but, as often happens when I go to a strange part of London, I got lost and wasted some time. When I arrived at the venue, I took one look at the queue and knew I needn't bother taking my bike trousers off. I stuck around anyway, just to be turned away definitively.
Should've left work an hour early.
Should be better at navigating after all these years.
Ah well. Nobody died, as I remind myself when sad or annoying stuff happens. I did what I thought was best, and I was unlucky this time. Nor did I get angry with the young BBC bod who was only doing his job, unlike the people in front of me. But I did spend most of my evening riding around central London with absolutely nothing to show for it, and I missed out on seeing one of my favourite musicians live in an intimate setting. It's going to be a few days before I stop being miserable about it.