Free Live and Fabulous! by Grace Dent

point, she has to hold on to the kitchen table to steady herself.
    â€œShuttttup,” I groan.
    â€œSpecial commendation for sulking!” Mum finally catches her breath to say, before collapsing in fits again.
    â€œRight! That’s it! I’m going to my boudoir,” I snap. “And I don’t want to be disturbed.”
    â€œOh, well, nice chatting,” says Dad, wiping his eyes. “See ya when you next surface.”
    â€œOh, and no writing poetry while you’re in there,” shouts Mum after me. “It’s the slippery slope!”
    â€œI won’t, don’t worry,” I assure her, flouncing away.
    â€œOoh, and Ronnie, before I forget,” says Dad, sticking his head around the kitchen door as I head for my room, “you got a letter today. Dunno who it’s from.”
    â€œOoh, we never got that one steamed open, did we?” mutters Mum in the other room.
    Dad winks, then begins searching about on the telephone table, passing me a package.
    â€œEh?” I say, looking at the bright red thick envelope with its glamorous London postmark.
    â€œOooh, come on then,” says Dad. “Open it!”
    I grab the envelope and scurry into my lair.

there’s nothing as queer as Polk.
    After putting on my new Kings of Kong CD, I sit down on the bed and begin opening the letter. This is very irregular. Nobody writes to me, ever. As I tear open the outer package, I notice that inside the first large red envelope is a smaller, pale yellow envelope. Upon the yellow envelope, in ink, is written:
    Â 
    Ronníe Rípperton +3
    Â 
    Weird. The yellow envelope feels as though it may have something chunky inside it. I put it to one side and concentrate on the piece of white paper. A letter! As I begin reading, my breathing becomes unsteady and my heart begins to beat a big hole through my chest. It says.
    WITH COMPLIMENTS OF FUNKY MONKEY MANAGEMENT:
    Hi there, Ronnie! Kari from Funky Monkey Management here!
    Â 
    Er ... what? Who!? I carry on ...
    Â 
    Sorry these are so Late. we’re all mad busy over here at the moment and shamefully behind with the passes. Hope these are still of use? I’ve just been going through guest Lists with spike for the August date and he told me about you having hassle getting to his gig Last summer. Spike says he had a great time with the BDL and hopes these make up for it. Also—thank Fleur for tipping him, off about PRIZE being hosted illegally.
    He’s got his Lawyers on the case. Any problems with the passes, just give me a call. see ya soon.
    Kari XXX
    Â 
    Errrrrrr, eh? What on earth is going on?
    Kari who?! And Spike who?
    Spike?
    SPPPPPPIKE! !
    OH MY GOD! SPIKE SAUNDERS!
    Nooooooo, she can’t possibly mean the Spike Saunders!? I read the letter again, then another time looking for any evidence that this might be a hoax from Liam Gelding or some other satanic being.
    But the letter looks very, very genuine.
    I grab the yellow envelope and carefully rip it open, reaching inside, suddenly feeling a strong urge to go to the toilet.
    Is it possibly possible, even in a parallel wonky universe, that Spike “so beautiful it actually hurts, multimillionaire, Duke of Pop” Saunders actually remembers meeting the LBD (or the BDL, as he puts it) last year, and has got his personal assistant to send us something?
    Surely not.
    From the yellow envelope, I pull out four, thick, shiny gilt-edged pieces of paper with a silver hologram of a tent perched upon a hill glittering on each one. And then I gaze at them, totally spellbound by their majestic beauty.
    Four Astlebury Festival tickets!
    In my hands!
    Four “with compliments of Spike Saunders” Astlebury Festival tickets!!!
    I look at them and begin to laugh.
    And then I begin to really roar.
    And then I lie back on my bed and laugh so flipping much, I actually begin to cry.

Chapter 3
    full house

    â€œI knew it! I knnnnnnnew it!” squeals Fleur Swan,