Unprovable Truths

It's nine o'clock in the morning and I'm standing in a queue at the Grainger Studio to get free tickets to the Young Performers Awards Grand Final. There are four people in front of me, and
no one behind.

Three of the people, and myself, were previously sitting on a circular seat, in front of the Box Office.

The First Person: A lady of a certain age in an orange jacket, with an English accent, who doesn't even know the tickets are free.

The Second Person: A lady in a green top and black three quarter jogger pants who can't believe there isn't a long queue for the free tickets. Twice she runs off, and comes back.

The Third Person: An elderly gentleman in a pork pie hat and a tan raincoat. He knows how many people fit into the Festival Theatre. He knows how many people fit into the Town Hall. He knows how many people fit into the Elder Hall.

I know he knows because we talk about these things. But at last we run out of venue capacities to discuss.

It is difficult to talk easily to persons who are all sitting on an outward facing circular seat.

Eventually the conversation dies.

There now comes upon the scene a:

Fourth Person: A lady of the obese persuasion, who is sitting in the cafe, some metres away, waiting for an opportunity.

I do not know this.

For I am facing directly away from the Box Office, occupied with a Brink Theatre brochure.

Hola! suddenly everyone has got up and formed a queue at the Box Office desk, and there are four people in front of me, and the last of these is the obese lady, but the real last one is me.

Had she not done this I would have seats in Row E, and she a kinder adjective.