I discovered something rather spooky yesterday; it’s just a small detail, but one I’d like to note. Inspired by Thursday’s epic gig, Lyn and I decided I should go and try to get tickets for a Paul McCartney gig shortly to be held at the O2. I set off back up there, only to be told they were sold out. While I was up there, though, I thought I’d just pop over the river to the Excel exhibition centre to see if there was going to be another Star Trek show there this year – with any luck, I could meet Sir Patrick Stewart again. It turns out, however, that that event was a one-off, and that they aren’t going to have a star trek gig there again (this yea it’s Dr. Who). That fact strikes me as really uncanny. What are the chances? The year I finally pass m MA after so long is the year I met the very person I had been writing about, and indeed it turns out it was the only year I could do so. That, I must say, strikes me as really uncanny. Not that I believe in the afterlife, but it is as if my school mates I mention in my thesis were looking down and decided to give me the biggest treat ever. The way in which events came together like that is really, really odd.