I failed miserably to get tickets to see Kate Bush in concert, after an hour on the phone to various box offices trying, I remembered that I had to go out, so I handed the reins over to my maid of all work Carmen. I didn't hold much hope, so imagine my delight when a short time later Carmen called me to say that she had been successful and has got two tickets for £15.00 including booking fees! My excitement was feverish to say the least, Kate Bush, her first concert in 35 years and I've got tickets! After the excitement had died down, alarm bells starting ringing in my head. £15.00! I bet the stupid bitch has paid £1500 off a tout. When I got home she proudly showed me the confirmation, she printed out. I snatched the paper out of her gnarled claw and eagerly scanned the page. What's this? This isn't Kate Bush. It's a play, a who-dun-it starring Kate O'Mara. My language was choice to say the least and not for the faint hearted "Kate O'fuckingMara" I was so livid, my mood ring my grandmother gave me on her death bed had melted. However, the next day or two later Kate O'Mara died, she must have felt my wrath.