With 2017 off to such a woeful start, it’s now increasingly rare to start a week with any trace of optimism. How can you experience elation whilst Trump cracks out executive orders at the same rate he claims terrorist are infiltrating the US?* How can joy’s rosy cheeks materialise as the imbroglio of Brexit hovers overhead?
However, one event was ready to brush aside this omnipresent gloom and get the year in gear: Doggy De-Stress. Call it a decrepit monolith if you will** but the Union pulled through. It served up a buffet (not a literal one mind) A fiesta. A celebration of life. Puppies; and lots of ‘em. I was simultaneously delighted and thankful, outrageously excited for this coming Thursday… and then disaster struck.
“They all went, so quick man”
Those were the words of a close friend as they recounted the ticket buying process.
Tickets, what tickets? I thought with growing despair, as he began to hurl stats at me like a deranged maths lecturer.
“Six minutes or less”
I thought you could queue?
“8 second delay”
Maybe I should have checked the website…
Then the closing statement.
When I asked how much he would sell a ticket for he answered without a trace of irony: “the same amount of Greek debt that Goldman Sachs re-structured”.*** I quickly totaled up my net value. Guitar, comic books, uncashed Christmas cheque… £24.97. Ah, the student loan! Detracting rent, I had a final figure: £35.79
It wasn’t enough. The puppies were but a pipe dream; and the tragedy of 2017 rumbled on.
*One every 0.4 seconds