Dear Diary – I spoke to Andrew

This is the thing. I’ve said – in public – many times now that I want Andrew to join me onstage for “Last Christmas” at Wembley on the 17th. Or 15th. I don’t know yet. Whatever. I did this because I thought Andrew may have read about it and given me a call about it – but no. I should have known better than to think Andrew would let an opportunity to make me beg pass him by.

I generally never beg, but I eventually jumped to the conclusion that I was almost ready to do it today. After a fantastic ego-wank up in Manchester, I felt on an amazing high, woke up at three in the afternoon and thought, “Today, George, you will pick up the phone and call Andrew.” So I fired up a spliff, dialled his number and waited. The conversation went something like this;

Andrew: The Ridgeley residence, Andrew speaking!

Me: Hi Andrew. George here. How are you?

Andrew: George, huh? Have you got a question for me?

I could practically hear him grin through the phone. He was enjoying the whole situation too much. 

Me: I do. What have you got planned for December?

Andrew: Oh, you know, he teased. – This and that, you know I need to be booked far in advance these days, with all the offers I get.

At this point I was gritting my teeth.

Me: I know you don’t like the public and the business and you swore it would never happen again after Rock in Rio in ‘91, but I’m getting ready to round off my first tour for fifteen years – the first doing my own material for eighteen – and as it’s 25 years since we started out together, I thought maybe we could round off together too. You know, with you joining me onstage for “Last Christmas” at Wembley on the 17th of December, for instance.

There was a long silence.

Andrew: It’s 24 years, George.

Me: What?

Andrew: It’s 24 years since 1982, not 25.

I did a quick count, and by George, he’s right. Shit. How embarrassing.

Me: It’ll be like the old days, I added, pretending the past 20 seconds hadn’t taken place. – I’ll sing, you’ll pretend to play… I mean, you’ll play the guitar and pretend to si… I mean, sing backing vocals and stuff. Don’t you remember, Andrew? We were every little hungry school girl’s pride and joy? And we had such a kick, didn’t we, buddy?

Andrew: Your pitch kinda sucks, mate, he laughed. – I’ll think about it and call you tomorrow.

So that was embarrassing. I couldn’t even go online and pick up a casual fuck today. Fingers crossed.  

Nervously,

George x