Ladytron? Non

There would have been a Ladytron review here if the stupid Astoria door women hadn’t been so blind. I was down to review the gig but apparently my name was absent from the list.

If you put twitchy stress-heads in charge of checking through a list of names, surely the speed addled brain will gloss over one or two names. I believe I fell foul to this heinous crime. However the imbalance in karma was restored when Ladytron’s collection of synths and fluorescent tube lighting (probably) overloaded the crumbling Astoria’s power supply. The gig was cancelled and re-scheduled for July (citation needed). Ha-ha I haven’t felt this superior since I bumped into Sarah Oliver in Boots when I was nineteen. Track back a few years and in my deluded thirteen year old mind, Sarah was the unreachable Goddess of perfection. While she was only two years older than me, the closest I ever got to her was a patronizing hug. Since at the time I had the unfortunate disposition, for the majority of my early teens actually, of being stuck in the body of a twelve year old boy. This meant that no girl my own age would be seen with me, never mind a potential Mrs. Robinson.


A few years later and while I was torn between the usual dilemma of Chicken & Stuffing or Chicken & Bacon sandwiches, I caught the glance of a slightly overweight girl in a hideously un-flattering tracksuit. I went back to choosing the contents of my Meal Deal when I had a tap on the shoulder. A shrill, Bensons dented voice asked “Jon? It’s me Sarah from school?”. Arrrrgh! I managed to stifle the wave of sick I was about to expel and held a slightly forced conversation. “Ha-ha” I thought “You’re all fat and minging now and I’ve finally managed to break the elusive five foot two barrier” (I’m at least 5’8 now, honest). I walked away from Boots 20 Advantage Points better off and with an acute belief that karma did and always will work out in one’s favour. Fuck you Astoria, fuck you.