But first, a response to the response. I never thought I’d need to print this, but I don’t support blackmail. If anything, my last article is a lesson in being careful with your words. And how once they’re written down, they’re out of your hands. Another thing my last post was not about is the feminist nature of IOUs. You can take some things at surface level, you know? And now that’s out of the way, today’s take is:
Hometown glory is more than watching the local football team win. It’s quirks and foils and everything between. Take this place, Croydon. For me, it’s knowing what it’s like to see a sunset from the viewpoint of Lloyds Park, or the church ladies volunteering to raise money for their friends’ care. How on the bus you can see every race and ethnicity sat next to each other in perfect harmony. The history of the Brutalist architecture and the weddings by the library. The beauty of haggling at Surrey Streetmarket. Maybe it’s a romantic way to view it, but it’s my home.
Fifteen
Energy bites
It fizzles, delights
Oh . . . I think this is the start
Of something electric, magnetic
I hope I don’t regret it
‘Electric’ fromThe In-Between
On Saturday morning I’m as prepared for these Rose Conrad tickets as I’ll ever be. I’ve watched several TikToks about the North American sale, read every internet forum, and have a set-up including my laptop, my phone and my mum’s laptop and phone.
An interesting piece of post arrived for me this morning. In a brown envelope with only my name written on it, a collection of photos had been posted through our letterbox. It was pictures of Croydon, taken all over the city. Ty had captured every part of the town, from good to bad: graffiti, shops, people who live here. And he managed to make it all look beautiful. There was one small note with it:I spent a week looking around. I can see why you like it here so much.
I read it and smile. Maybe Ty is having a change of heart. Maybethis is a good omen for the ticket sale. I grab the school paper, slide my article about hometown glory into the empty envelope and quickly run out to post it back to him.
Kira and Faye are logging into the sale from their own homes, because having different IP addresses is paramount to success. Armed with our parents’ credit cards and hyper speed Wi-Fi, there will be no stopping us.
The countdown is on until 10 a.m., when tickets go on sale. I’m jittery, I’ve barely slept and have accepted a rare coffee offer from Mum.
The group chat is pinging off between me, Kira and Faye.
9.57 a.m..
I enter the online waiting room. Five times, with every electronic device in the house. I breathe out a sigh as my access code works. As does Mum’s. Faye and Kira confirm they’re in too. No word from Ollie, but no doubt he’s as nervous as me.
And now the ticketing gods will sort us into a random place in the queue as soon as it it hits—
10 a.m..
I squeal as the page refreshes. I don’t even think I’m blinking.
My heart drops when I see the page.
You are 72,345 in the queue.
I let out a sound I can’t describe. Like a strangled shout.
I look at the other screens in the room.
90,372
63,587
22,485
104,572
My best shot here is the 22,485, which is on Mum’s ancient and unreliable laptop.
I feel like I’m going to throw up.
