“Are you seeing them in concert?” asked the JB Hifi lady as I paid for Belle & Sebastian’s startlingly named Dear Catastrophe Waitress. The bloke in front of me in the queue had bitched and moaned to her about trying to return a CD he’d already played, so I was glad I wasn’t feeling her wrath.

“Yep. Got good seats, miraculously.”

No joke. I went looking on the web on Sunday night. Nothing but row X of the dress circle. Up in the rafters. Pondered it, then decided given the cost, I’d give it a miss. On a whim, had another look on Monday night. This time it was row G in the Lounge, which if my reading of the seat map is right, is about 20 rows closer to the stage than row X. It seems better seats had come available. Either that or I’m woefully misreading the map, and it’s so far away you need binoculars to see a set of specs dancing around on the distant stage.

“Where is it — at the Forum?”

“No, the Palais. This Saturday.”

“THIS Saturday? Two, no three days from now?”

“Yep.”

“Oh. I was hoping for free tickets. I’d better make a phone call.”

Yeah, good luck lady. Just ‘cos you work for a big CD-selling record shop chain. Some of us have to pay real money for tickets. And as yet I don’t even know if this Belle And Sebastian mob are any good. Somehow they passed me by until now, but on being assured they are very good, observing certain parties mourning about not being able to go, I chased up the tickets, faxing a copy of them through to the aforementioned certain parties yesterday as a surprise. Which it was. Hopefully they’re as dazzling as I’ve been told. Buying the CD was merely an investment: to put it on high rotation for the next few days, thus being familiar with the music I would hear in concert.

While the card transaction went through, JB Hifi lady grabbed her phone/PA. “Someone from CDs, call Philimina when you get a chance.” She handed back my credit card, and the bag with the CD in it. “Thanks for the trigger. Enjoy the show.”

Having spent up on tickets and the CD… I certainly hope so!

In the train at Flinders Street platform 6 on Tuesday afternoon. Two teenage boys are skylarking. “I got stuck on a train once”, says one as they joke, walking through the carriage. The other sits down. They are headed elsewhere, but the train is going nowhere for now.

The first stands outside, pushes the door closed and mimics “beep beep beep beep”. Much hilarity.

They change their minds about the hilarity when the doors really close. From opposite sides, both try to re-open them, but the train driver’s not having it — he’s running late already.

The train full of people — with one who doesn’t want to be on it — starts to move off. “I’ll meet you back here”, he shouts to his mate, before sitting down to wait for the first stop.

I chuckle quietly, smirk and go back to my newspaper.