I’m a magnet for assholes. Yes, truly. I discovered this tonight at the Paul Kelly concert in Shepherd’s Bush. Paul Kelly is a famous Australian musician that Snookums and I like a lot. (He also resembles Principal Snyder from Buffy a great deal.) The show was great, but the audience members around us were not. In front we had a pair of tarts, both in “one-armed tit tops” (TM Meg). The one to the left was being chatted up by an obnoxious loser the entire night. They talked through the entire damn show, including both encores. It was the rudest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. At one point during a lull in a quieter song, I heard them discussing the merits of the Spice Girls. (And lest you think we were sitting in some obscure corner of the balcony, we weren’t. We were standing in the center of the stalls 30 feet from the bloody stage.) I spent ages trying to work up the courage and righteous anger to tell them off. Justice was served, however, when a tall man in front of them lifted his short flossie girlfriend up onto his shoulders, placing her ass right in the chatty tart’s face. My laughter was not quiet. Okay, enough ranting. It’s been a long day. The Harry Potter review will have to wait til the morn. Sleep tight, kids.