Do you believe in serendipity?
The events that led to my seeing a favourite Spanish singer in concert can only be described as such. I shall regale you with the tale (forgive me this little indulgence):
Once upon a time... No, too cliché. To set the scene, then, the following details: I had bought concert tickets for my flatmate's birthday to see aforementioned popular artiste. The concert was to be in an entirely different city, which we would visit and where we would stay with friends who would also attend the event. The flatmate knew of the trip but not of the show in question. Voilà problem numero uno.
Now, the friend we were to stay with is a remarkably flaky character as it transpires. Little did I know that he had in fact quit his job in the other city a good week ahead of the concert, and was back in our vicinity. My flatmate had his suspicions but for one reason or another chose not to voice them. He merely assumed that the weekend away was not to happen, and thus made his own plans accordingly.
Alas, this left yours truly in the delightful pickle of having tickets to a concert at entirely the wrong end of the country with less than 48 hours' notice to rid myself thereof. Various schemes were cooked up and dismissed as to whether I could indeed attend, but it was deemed a failure and consigned to the 'oh well never mind' bin. And so I set about trying to peddle the tickets, best salesface on, and though for a while it did seem a fool's errand, eventually there they were, gone. Three for cash recompense and one as a charitable gift, for the sake of the old "want not waste not" mantra.
So. We were no longer going to the concert. By this point I had let the cat out of the bag and told a slightly-disappointed-but-not-overly-surprised flatmate about the whole charade. Game over.
That evening, I had lined up another gig lined up (this time in my own city with my own people, who were undeniably less fallible) and so off we popped to have a good time. There we were, dancing away, relishing in the wide array of - I concede, somewhat juvenile - performances, and I soon forgot the trials and tribulations of the ticket debacle that morning.
The more popular the act, the more electric the atmosphere, and although it was aimed at a somewhat younger target audience, the concert turned out to be immensely fun and very diverting.
All of a sudden, the compère (or rather, local DJ, but hey who's against handing him a promotion here) announced that he had a surprise for us. A thrill of anticipation shivered through the crowd. As he began to drop hints about who the unexpected artist might be, thrilled whispers rippled all around us, whipping us up into an impatient frenzy...
Lo and behold, it was the very same singer I had been due to see the following day! We could not believe our luck. Call it fate, call it chance, call it what you will; it certainly put a smile on our faces. I'm positive I was in a delectable daze of disbelief the rest of the evening. Goodness knows it made up for the unhappy fiasco earlier on. The only disagreeable factor was that the flatmate, the original beneficiary of the piece, ultimately saw no gain in any way; he at best had a pang of jealousy or a slight moue of disappointment to play with.
And so, to conclude, it may all have been a mere balance of fortune, that I should be cursed with a failed attempt then blessed by being in the right place at the right time. Maybe each was in some way my own doing, if you believe in karmic retribution. Who knows. I choose to accept that it was sheer serendipitous luck. It may be a romantic notion or a foolhardy idea, all 'Que Sera, Sera' as Doris would have it, but I find that it more than adequately fits this tale, with no further explanation needed.
And besides, doesn't the word just roll off the tongue oh-so-nicely?!
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