Why I am probably too old for concerts: a reintroduction to loud noises, crotches and the dangers of bottle tops

SNF03BIZ_682_1017801aI wasn’t allowed to keep the cap on the plastic bottle of water I ordered at tonight’s concert at the O2. “You’re not allowed caps inside in case you throw them at an act you don’t like,” the young girl behind the counter told me when she took my seven pounds. “It’s not Ascot. Anyone’s allowed in.”

Fair enough, I thought. Can’t argue with that, but how I’m supposed to throw a bottle top at Dizzy Rascal’s bopping head when he’s twenty five metres away is beyond me… I can’t even get my own knickers on my laundry pile from the other side of my bedroom.

It’s all very new to me, going to concerts. The last live gig I went to was a performance by a ukulele/didgeridoo player in Ubud, who had the entire room waving like trees in their billowing fisherman’s pants and stinking it out with the collective essence of BO and incense. I was grateful to my Fab friend Farzana (who literally works at Fabulous magazine), for getting us the tickets for tonight’s Stephen Lawrence concert, (a memorial fundraiser) because there were all kinds of great acts there to remind me  of how wonderful British musicians are.

I didn’t know who most of them were.

The first act was a man called Plan B, who basically shouted three songs I couldn’t understand, while holding on fast to his own groin. I wondered whether Plan A was to have an entire band but everyone just thought… “well, we don’t want our mums to see us holding our groins like him, so we’ll just go back to potting plants in the local garden centre for cash and let him have his moment. He’ll come back to us when he’s ready.”

The next act ran in also holding his crotch. I learnt his name was Rizzlekick or something, and I think perhaps there were two of them but they were blending into the first groin clutcher/shouter by then (and sounding quite similar) and I’m still not sure who was who or what they did because there was an awful lot of screaming over all of it. Anyway, Ed Sheeran came on next and he was amaaaazing of course – truly talented if a little orange. I stood up then and added to the screaming, until I realized I was quite tired and had to sit down again. And I also thought it was quite unsafe how Ed was allowed to stand on the speaker (tut).

I had to keep asking Farzana, who was a real pop star and who just won X Factor / Britain’s Got Talent / Pop Idol because you don’t know anymore really, do you? And then Jamie Cullen came on and I stood up once more because I thought… oh I know him, YAY!! And then I thought, but… doesn’t he look old? And then I thought oh man, he was younger than me when he was discovered, so if he looks old, how old do I look, standing here dancing? I think I’ll sit down again, I’m very tired.

Another act came on – a duo called Dementure, or Rudementure or something. I thought that one of them looked a little like my ex boyfriend which was disturbing, and one had a white Christmas jumper on that not even Noel Edmonds would have contemplated wearing for TV. Honestly, check it out when the show is broadcast on BBC1 on Tuesday. Worrying.

They had a back up singer who appeared to be wearing white pajama pants. When I looked at the big screen I realized they were white floral jeans. I was just getting over them when a girl in yellow socks and a long leather jacket started getting danced around by bad jumper man and my ex boyfriend. And I had to look away until Jessie J came on and made everything better.

I think it’s a good idea for them not to let people have any bottle tops in the O2 Arena to be honest. I probably would have thrown a few after all, especially at the Noel Edmonds jumper. I also would have thrown one at two teenagers behind me, who, when Beverley Knight came on, had a conversation like this:

“Who’s that?”

“Dunno, never ‘eard of her”

“Shall we go get a beer then till she’s finished?”

“Yeah, good idea.”

I mean… It’s Beverley fucking Knight! What?!!

But then again, I didn’t know who Tiny Temper was when he came on. Apparently he mis-spells his name as Tinie Tempah because, well, who on earth knows but I’m guessing he thinks he doesn’t need to be a grammatically correct good influence when he can wear awesome sunglasses on stage indoors at 10.30pm and just grab his groin some more instead like all the other popular people out there.

Actually… I thought they were saying ‘tiny tempeh’ at first, which made me hungry for my wholesome Ubud vegetarian snack, until a big strapping man came on and also shouted a lot.

Basically, I think I either have to go to a lot more British gigs or just never go to one ever again.

Sigh.