Oliver in the Royal Albert Hall: A Sentimental Diary of the Fan Who Drove - Part III.

It was busy outside the Hall. Tens of people in anxious anticipation waited in front of the stage exit, hoping for signatures. I stood by the side, waiting for Ante. But he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, two guys with CDs in their hands approached me.

“Hi,” said one of them, tall, attractive, suntanned. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“Yes.”

“We sat right behind you,” said the other one, shorter and funny. “We thought you were alone.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“We just want to get some signatures,” said the tall guy, importantly lowering his voice. “I think Oliver is just about to come out this way.”

“I think so, too,” I noted. „But I am not waiting for him.” What a pain it must be for the artists, - I thought, - to be constantly followed by neurotic fans, who wait for the one glance and then worship and interpret it for the rest of their days.

Oliver in the Royal Albert Hall: A Sentimental Diary of the Fan Who Drove - Part II.

“Dear Blanka,” I read in an email early next morning (Ah! Love it when someone actually does not misspell my name and writes it with the bloody correct “K” in the middle. Slavic linguistic coherence, obviously. Traalalaah.) “I’ll be at Royal Albert Hall all day, here’s my mobile – ring me up. Nikola.”

Oliver in the Royal Albert Hall: A Sentimental Diary of the Fan Who Drove - Part I.

You've already heard countless stories of people whose lives got all changed and turned upside down by the Icelanding volcano eruption? Check out this one. Warning 1: It's loong and will be supplied in three parts. Warning 2: I refuse to answer any questions about whether this actually happened. The truth is, though, that I am indeed a great fan of Oliver Dragojević.