I think I’m ready to recount the 18th of March, Russell Brand’s second Sydney show at the Hordern Pavilion. Am I only writing this in hopes that Russell will read the blog again? Well this isn’t my conscious reasoning behind the decision but, yeah it probably has something to do with it.
Hi Russell! Thanks for reading this the first time. You will forever have our blog virginity, and thanks to you we now have three followers. Speaking of; to you followers, don’t think that I’m going to cater to your needs. I swore I wouldn’t let the fame change me!
I’ll begin the story about two weeks prior to the show when ‘Time Out’ magazine announced a wonderful competition.
Win tickets to see Russell Brand
To win a pair of tickets both to the Hordern show and the after party, all you need to do is send Russell a message in 25 words or less and he will personally pick the ones he likes most. He promises that he won't just choose pretty girls.
What an opportunity! Just imagine if we won! It would be so, so very amazing! No terms and conditions so we went ahead and entered. I won’t repeat the entry I sent in for myself because frankly, looking back it’s just not that funny. However the entry I provided for Grace to use was pure genius. I am not one to blow my own horn. I don’t make a habit of tooting my own trumpet. But this was just a damn good entry. Grace and I collaborated to make it perfect.
There is no way I can tell you all the reasons I want to meet you in 25 words or less. Here is one: fucking.
The first half, adorably sweet, shows her real feelings for the man, the truth; the second half, just funny, and an invitation which I’m sure Russell would not decline. Plus it is twenty five words exactly. Fate it was, that such a perfect entry could be formulated. Enter!
I also worked together with Christine to form another excellent entry.
VAGINA! That was intended to catch your eye. ANARCHY! COMMUNISM! P.S. I am a pretty girl.
Succinct, funny, turns the competition description on its ear, another good one. Enter!
So this brings us back (forward?) to the 17th of March. We all went to bed after a lovely evening, resigned to the fact that none of has had won the competition for the second night, but satisfied that we had seen him once.
I was woken early the next morning to the sound of my text message alert. Both Grace AND Christine had won the competition. And how many prizes were given out you ask? Five! We won two out of the five prizes given out! Amazing! So we spent the day bragging to our friends and figuring out who else to take with us.
We finally got back to Christine’s house and being the responsible young ladies that we are figured the sensible thing to do would be to call and ask when and where we would pick up our tickets to the show and enquire as to any age restrictions for the after party venue. I will now paraphrase the conversation.
Me: Hello there ol’ buddy ol’ pal! Are you the person I should be talking to about the Russell Brand Competition that my friends and I won not once but twice?
Time Out dude: Uhh yeah.
Me: Well we were just wondering where we should pick up our tickets to the show, you know, that one we won four tickets to.
Time Out dude: Can I get your uhh name?
Me: Sure thing friend, the names of two of the winners – both of them my dear friends – are Grace and Christine.
Time Out dude: Oh I’m sorry. You guys didn’t actually win the competition at all. Uuhh we just decided to give out a few more tickets to the after party. So you don’t have to worry about picking up your uhhh tickets.
Me: Oh. That wasn’t written anywhere on the website you know.
Time Out dude: Uhhh Sorry
Me: Well okay then. I noticed that the after party is being held at a licensed venue, there wouldn’t be any age restrictions would there? Because there was no mention of any on the competition entry form you know.
Time Out dude: Well I dunno, it’s probably drinking age. Sorry bout that. Bye.
There was always a little part of us that expected it was too good to be true, but yes, our dreams were crushed just a little bit.
Again, being the responsible, determined, and very persistent young ladies that we are, we decided to ring up the after party venue. Here is the conversation.
Me: Hello you’re hosting tonight’s Russell Brand party; is this correct?
Ivy Lady: Oh, I don’t rightly know luv.
Me: Oh, well just trust me, you are. My friends and I have won a competition to attend this party you see, won it twice we did, but you see, we are but two months under 18. This won’t be a problem will it, I mean, there was absolutely no speculation of any age restriction on the competition website you know. None whatsoever.
Ivy Lady: Oh I understand deary. Don’t you worry honey, I’ll have a talk to my boss and we’ll find someone to look after you dear, and everything will be fine and all your dreams will come true. I’ll call you right back as soon as I find out what we can do for you, dumpling.
She never called me back.
It just so happened that Grace already had her ticket to the show, and one spare, so I went with her. This venue was a little further away and consequentially made for a more stressful trip. We made it there in the end, quite a bit early and had to sit around in the blustering wind until the sun began to set below the horizon and it was time to head on in.
Grace bought herself an exorbitant program and we flipped through it while we waited for the opening act. Again it was Merrick and Rosso. The pubes joke was more strung out this time but they completely dropped the R2-D2 midget discussion which was wise.
Russell was great. Seeing it for the second time didn’t make it any less funny and I was surprised and impressed by both the amount of improvisation, and the bits from the nights before that I thought were improvised but weren’t. He’s very good at what he does if he can convince people that he’s doing it for the first time every time.
He came out again after the show but only for a little while, not enough time for a second cheek stroke or any contact at all really. He hopped up on a table and politely apologised for having to leave so early but he had to go to his party. My second biggest regret of the night is not yelling “Can we have a lift!?” it would have at least made it known that we were invited.
We followed the crowds of people out of the place and to the bus stops where we caught a bus to Martin place and walked to the Ivy. We waited in the line of experienced party goers for a while until we were at the head of the line.
“Um… is this the Russell Brand thing?” I asked, sounding very silly. Then the dude asked us for ID which we did not have. We said we didn’t and he seemed completely cool with it. “Just let me ask this bloke if it’s okay.” He said. I assumed we’d just not get a stamp allowing us to consume alcohol. I didn’t think there was any possibility that they thought we were actually 18, because I look about 13. “How old are you girls?” he asked. “17.” We answered, little goody two shoes never done anything rebellious in her life. And there is the biggest regret of the night; I am positive they would have let us in if we’d lied.
We wandered away; hat in hand, our tails between our legs, kicking stones as we headed back to the train station.
“We didn’t get in. On our way home.” I texted my mother.
Then I got a call.
“What is the venue called? You girls won that competition and I will not have your night ruined. Walk right back there and ask to speak to the manager. I want to speak to someone about this. Don’t you dare get on that train.”
And so my mother called up the manager of the Ivy hotel. I have never been so embarrassed. Let’s just hope it makes for some funny stand up material in a few years. She said that they couldn’t let us in but they were paying for a taxi home.
We walked back and met with Ed, who was very nice about the whole thing even though it was hardly his fault or problem. He said he had a surprise for us and led us down to the basement. At this point two things were running through my head.
1. Ed was not as nice as first though and was going to brutally beat and rape us. (this isn’t an unusual thing for me to be thinking about. If I’m not thinking about something else, a lot of this time I’m imagining situations in which I may be attacked and how I would react in one of these situations.)
2. Russell was down there waiting in the basement. This would have been the best and worst thing to ever happen.
It actual fact it was neither of these. “We’re going to drive you home in the Bentley!” Ed said gesturing toward a sleek shiny cream coloured car. I think he was expecting a very different reaction to what we delivered. We moaned in embarrassment and apologised profusely when I think we should have squealed with delight just at the thought of sitting in that car.
We hopped in with driver Glen and set off. We had a lovely chat with Glen who was very nice. We learned that we were sitting in the same car as Gordon Ramsay and Meg Ryan had once sat. How grand! But it was no Russell. On the way home Grace filled Glen in on Russell’s life story and Glen filled us in on the worth of his lovely car: $400,000.
An especially embarrassing, yet wonderfully smooth ride.
We arrived home safe and sound only with the pain of ‘what if’s’ looping through our minds. That sounds very melodramatic but it’s true. “Is there even a word for what Time Out stole from us?” We did write Russell a message spanning about five tweets on the night but I don’t think it got to him, so hopefully he reads this. This is what we go through for you! But we love you for it anyway.
The moral of this story is, though Time Out has very good taste in comedians and noodles, they conduct themselves especially poorly through competitions. If anyone wants to link the big boss of Time Out to this blog, I won’t stop you.
Thank you for two wonderful shows, Russell. I think this is the last excuse we’ll have to link you to our blog for a while. I am going to hold you to that second cheek stroke.
Ardy, is too honest for her own good.
p.s. to Meredith from MA, USA, Russell may have our reading of the blog virginity, but you’re our first commenter. It made us smile, thanks.
listening to: Hallowed be thy name – Iron Maiden
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