Me and the band are packing it in for a year. My wife has only just realised what this means
It is Saturday morning, and my wife is driving me and all my stuff to an industrial estate in west London, where the band have hired a room to spend two full days rehearsing for our final giant gig before we take a year off. They also have parking, but my wife wants the car, so she’s dropping me off.
“I’ll call when I need you to pick me up,” I say. “Or I could probably get a lift home.”
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