Aging is a wretched bedfellow. Simple tasks, undertaken scores of times become onerous and cumbersome as we move from freedom and fluidity toward bureaucracy and rule adherence.
During my recent half century celebrations, my wife gifted me, an Oasis fan, a pair of tickets to watch the chief, Noel Gallagher, perform on Brighton Beach, which is where we found ourselves in July.
Booking for a concert on the beach for the last day in July seemed like a great idea back in March when the tickets were on general release.
The day itself, as well as the week and month, seemed to be a washout and even though the wind blew a gale nearly knocking us off our feet, spirits were high despite parking in the ‘local’ hotel car park which was as local to the hotel as Paris is to Rome.
After self-check in (when will companies learn that all us customers want is a little service and not enforced labour?) it was time for a lie down. After two minutes, with the wife asleep and my doubting we would ever venture out into the rain to see Noel, I did the prerequisite hotel room inspection.
Standing in the rain on Brighton seafront 90 minutes later, with drizzle on our faces, a force 10 gale around us woke us from our kid free senses.
After being barked out by a teenage security guard as I dared to have the mouthful of water left in my ‘permitted’ empty water bottle, we made our way to the well managed bar which was not busy: not surprising, as they charged £8.00 a pint.
Within minutes we had encamped on a throuplets picnic table and had a blast as the beer flowed and we discussed canal boats, hush puppies and beards, before realising that we would have to battle our way toward the front once Noel hit the stage, as one of the speakers had blown.
Despite smashing my credit card to bits on the beer, I smiled as we watched Gallagher senior run through some High-Flying Birds' songs, ably assisted by two members of Oasis, before halfway through, doing what everyone in attendance was there for - smashing out a series of Oasis bangers.
Despite having a reputation as being somewhat gnarly with his audiences, he was on good form, effing and jeffing with the punters as the crowd morphed into a 6,500 strong choir who didn’t look back in anger.
Having now completed the triple set of seeing Oasis (in Milton Keynes), Liam (at Knebworth) and now Noel, I felt as if, strangely, I had achieved a full house as the wind and rain abated and we made our way out, with wounded wallets, into the Brighton night.
- Brett Ellis is a teacher.
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