So I went to the venue. All seemed good.
Then it occurred to me to consult the Ticketmaster webpage. It names a different venue to that on the ticket.
So, I do what I can to find out what has happened. A plague of locusts has hit the original venue.
A FRIGGING PLAGUE OF LOCUSTS.
How, dear reader, can this not be cosmic? Every time I try to go to a concert in a country where I don't speak the language, damnation comes right out of the Old Testament to derail me. Maybe there is an interventionist god, and maybe he's not so much angry and jealous as just kind of a prick. I fully understand if there is doubt as to the veracity of my story, so wrap your translator around this.
I'd best not try to go to any concerts when I have kids, or the first-born will die.
Everyone knows the pain of being subjected to an automated message on the phone. This pain is dramatically amplified when one doesn't speak the language.
Stay tuned for tomorrow's installment, when influenza zombies attack the train I'm on when en route to the new venue. The will probably launch locusts and bees out of their mouths at me.