Concertios

In the past year of my life, I have been to the exact same amount of concerts as I have in all the other years of my life. Out of all six of the concerts I have been to, I have hated one, forgot one and fell over at one.

The first concert of my life came when I was around less than ten. I can’t quite remember my age, but know that I was so young that it was Westlife. The one thing I pride myself in, most people’s first concert was Steps. Mine was popular boy band Westlife. I didn’t much like them at the time, and I was a little disappointed when we got there and they didn’t sing all those Boyzone songs I thought they would (I thought that Westlife and Boyzone were the same thing). It was still good though.

Things at the point get a little hazy. I was still at the tender and impressionable age, which had nothing to do with the concerts I went to, but a lot to do with the fact that my attention was short, and about a month before the concert, I took an odd liking to Busted. Niamh was older than me, like she is now (coincidence I think not), and we could only get our greasy paws on two tickets. At this point mum and dad had two options. Either me or Niamh could go, but not both of us. This would mean that there would be constant ‘but she got to go and see Busted so you should get me this’ and ‘well she got to go to the Busted concert so you must love her more’. In the end, me and Niamh both go to go. This was at the time the most independent thing we had done. We were shouted at before we went in about arguing, or not doing it, and then we were told not to go away from each other. Then there was the walking us to the door and watching until we had vanished, and then the not leaving the car park in case we came out four hours early. In the end, the shocking thing was, we must have been about one hundred metres from them at any one time. This would be the falling over one. Me and Niamh left and went to play a game while they were singing songs that me and Niamh didn’t know, and we were running around when I stood on my shoelace and went flying. It was a head/floor collision that stung me in the morning.

Backstreet Boys was next. This time, I went with Niamh (again who was at this time my concert buddy), along with Mum and our cousins, Sarah and Louise. I liked them actually. I knew the songs and everything. It was a very proud moment in my life. The only thing is I can’t remember it. Seriously. I remember being in the car and then leaving the venue, but nothing in the middle. There is nothing there. It’s weird. Like when you had hold of something and then put it down somewhere and it’s not in the place you left it. It was like that, but it was a whole night and not your phone or the remote.

I didn’t bother with concerts for years. Then there was the night. Taylor Swift. I ditched Niamh, because Ciarra would be a million times me entertaining. Along with me and Ciarra was my friend, Steph. We got there a little early, because I was worried we would miss it. We got there just after the doors had opened, and got to our seats about five minutes later, after a spot of light shopping, which consisted of a programme and a light up stick thing with ‘Taylor Swift’ on. We chilled for a while and then we watched the support act for a while and then she was on. It was amazing, even though my own stupid singing voice is all I got on the camera. Taylor Swift was fab, but we followed it by the worst night of my life.

Honestly, Alexis Jordan wasn’t bad when she was on, but the concert was defiantly for people who liked her and not for people who had been dragged along for the ride, like me. First, the doors said they would open at seven, and i was terrorised by birds until eight, when they finally let me in. Then the toilets, which were the smelliest toilets in the world, were also freezing. I was shivering. Then the room had no seats and half of the sun underneath it. It was the hottest I had ever been in my whole life. I didn’t have to wait long for something to look at. Someone came on and sung for us, and gave away a free pair of trainers. Then we waited while we sweated. Then there was another person come on, who wasn’t Alexis Jordan. Everyone in the room knew the songs, but me of course. I just stood there entertaining myself with my pants that I could make waves with when I moved my legs. When she did come on, she sung about four songs and vanished. By this time I was sweating, bored and tired as well as thinking about better things I could have spent that tenner on.

Then, when I was just on the cusp of my sixteenth birthday, Mummy and Daddy bought my Dolly Parton tickets. Imagine that God is in concert, call is God! Live! if you will. Well tickets for God! Live! come out and you wake up in the morning and watch as they all get sold. At this time, I convinced myself that every ticket was being sold to Justin Bieber, Fiona Phillips and Billy Piper. Then, four days before my sixteenth, we got the tickets and Dad drove me, Nanna and Grandad to go and see Dolly. It was fabulous. Unlike all the others, we didn’t have to wait. She was on when she said she would be and she sung for about an hour and a half. There was short interval where Grandad bought some coffee that was cheaper than my water (seriously, I hope that for that price Dolly bottled it herself at Lourdes). Then she came back on and she sung some more. It was fabulous! It was just amazing! Fabzing!

So I suppose that is it for my musical life. Until next time. Toodle-oo