Both the name of a Queen track and another way of acknowledging ageing. That being the end of big concert attending for me, well certainly the more popular bands and larger venues.
I saw Queen perform that track at Maine Rd, in 1986, back then it was Manchester City’s ground. I recall the hairs standing up on the back of my neck, with their opening song: ‘One Vision’.
It was song seven in their set list: For those in reminiscing mood, but with few memory cells left:
https://www.concertarchives.org/concerts
Football: Interest in football was one of the first to bite the dust. I am not certain what City’s ground is now called, but I would hazard a guess that it is a company name. And when the teams take the to the field, I imagine that the majority of the players are foreign. I certainly feel naive when there is banter amongst mates or ex work colleagues regards:
players/managers/trophywinners/champions/promotion/relegation/player transfer costs.
I no longer have a clue what is happening in that game. I cannot pronounce the names of most of the players and now managers. I have occasionally caught a game, usually England, but that has its own frustrations. England score early, then defend a 1:0 lead, until they lose it and the game. I usually reach for the off button when there is a player feigning a foul or injury, or numerous players surround the referee shouting in his face. Nah, this is not for me.
How anyone can witness all that and think it is ‘part of the game’ is beyond me. And those that remain loyal to their English Premiership club even more of a mystery. Only yesterday whilst reminiscing with some other old gits, I was told Tottenham fielded a side with not one English player in it, with a foreign manager and foreign owned. But hey guys, enthusiastically wave that cross of St George with THFC on, when Spurs play in Europe. From memory that club were the first to field foreign players, like Ozzie Ardiles, Ricky Villa and Jurgen Klinsmann. Back then it was a novelty. The novelty now is the occasional Englishman on the team list. Kalergi plan?
During this communal moan, I mentioned that I burst into tears when Tommy Smith (good English name) scored his thunder header from a corner in the European Cup Final. And I was not even a Liverpool supporter. It felt that an English club were going to be European Champions. Does it now? One of the Scotsman in our group mentioned that Celtic were the first British club to win that championship and that all the players in that team were born within thirty miles of their stadium.
The header is at 1:30, and how strange the memory is: I thought the corner was taken from the other side, the header was far more powerful. And that the game was played at night under floodlights, and I would have gone with Bayern Munich. And that’s why I do not do pub quizzes.
I recall watching the FA Cup Finals on Saturday afternoons with kick offs at 3 PM. We lads took it in turns inviting our mates to our parent’s houses and getting the beers in. Now, I understand the day and time of KO vary, mainly in accordance with Asian commercial considerations.
I attended both Wembley finals that Grimsby Town played in. Incredibly both were in the same year. Not that Mickey Mouse FA Cup final, the more important Johnsons Paint Trophy Final, and a playoff final. GTFC won both games, I cannot recall the year, opponents or the scores. Despite only looking all that up a few years back. Everything is on the net, rather than in the back of the net! But I do remember the chap that paid three times to see one of those matches.
A mate of a mate, he organised the tickets and distributed them out weeks before the match. In my mind I am believing his name is Pat and says on exchanging tickets for cash: “don’t forget this on the day” On that day we all boarded the train to London from Grimsby Town railway station. On the train Pat realised he had forgotten his own ticket! Consoling himself with drink, on knowing he would have to pay at the gate, he got really pissed. On finally getting into the stand, there was a group of foreign (they would be) girls and he sidled up to them and “made a bit of a nuisance of himself” A policeman spotted him, climbed into the stands, dragged him away and ejected him, so he had to pay again to get in,in another stand! I hope that hat trick Patrick reads this article.
Back to me: hypocritically, I used to criticise the England players for not singing the national anthem. Now I cannot get the words out myself. That’s what being a tin foiler does to you.
Rugby: For a while I took to watching rugby, and although not fully understanding the rules, I still like to catch the internationals, but I had a hiatus when most of the England players felt it necessary to get down on one knee during the heartily sang national anthem. Strange that the French team, who had more black players than England, had not one player done the same. They also have a better national anthem. Strangely, that fad of taking the knee seems to be no longer practised. I guess racism no longer exists, which is great news.
Cars: Another interest that has bitten the dust, I used to subscribe to Car, Autocar and other delivered magazines. I rarely failed to be able to identify a car on the road. I even knew the exotica, but back then they were as rare as hen’s teeth. I regarded them more as erotica, but at least I still think ‘cock’, when I see someone driving one. Now, they appear in my rear-view mirror all the time and around our village. The drivers must either be footballers, as certain drivers seem to dangle a completely tattooed right arm out of the open window. Opened so you so that you can hear their crap taste in music. Possibly they sold PPE during the Scandemic, or more likely exchanged a tiny house in London and bought a huge one in Norfolk, spending the rest on a penis substitute. Nowadays, I can hardly distinguish brands and have not one jot of envy for the drivers of expensive sports cars and SUVs. These things can be driven by any muppet. But I have great envy for the skills of the guys that design and build these great pieces of engineering, especially the engines. I do titter when I see a Porsche EV, with the word ‘Turbo’
I used to watch F1, but stopped well before I cancelled my TV license, about the same time that commentators got excitable about a car exiting the pits ahead of the one first in. Plus, our very own British driving hero Lewis Hamilton thought it necessary to genuflect ahead of each race. Since then, I have been content to see him not win a race. Karma comes in many forms.
Motorcycles: I have the same feelings with bikes and particularly speed. I still have the bike, that I once did a ‘let’s see what it will do’ (136 MPH) Now 70 MPH feels fast enough, and on dual carriageways I get overtaken by vans. I used to travel into Europe to watch MotoGP races and British Superbikes at Assen. Now I cannot be arsed to go to the BSB venue thirty miles down the road. I have no idea who have been the MotoGP, WSB or BSB champions in the last five years.
The sun: Back in the 70s, on Tossa del Mar beach, I was regularly spotted rubbing Johnson’s baby oil all over my vastly better physique, before drinking lots of sangria and passing out on a Union Flag beach towel. Now I would need a much wider towel. I rarely go anywhere near lotions: they promote skin cancer don’t you know. We had a reunion there a few years back. I was under a beach brolly all the time and rotated my lounger as the sun moved (flat earther!) My reduced pain threshold no longer allows me to get a shower, that feels like a needle gun on my overcooked flesh. Back then the pain was reduced somewhat by Pernod, and I have not been near that drink in decades.
Two of this group have already bitten the dust, the rest have less hair and more tare
Back to concerts, I have just watched Pulp at the O2, and I think singing along with the Common People, is a good place to step away. Why step away, I hear you both ask? Was it the cost, was it the travelling and requirement to stay overnight? Was it the mass crowds on exiting, or was it the QR code that caused me a lot of old man anxiety….?
We were standing on the top deck of a London bus taking us to the venue, when I saw another man of a similar age get his phone out of his pocket to check his QR Code was still active. We had some banter, and both of us bemoaned the loss of the piece of card that you used to carry in your pocket. I still have them from my early days of concert attendance, in a picture frame that is gathering dust somewhere. Apart from The Jam one, from their seaside tour at Skegness. The doorman ripped it up and left me with a slither of the original, and I suspect he sold the bigger section in more slithers to people paying at the door. Starting their set with ‘Going Underground’ which had gone straight to number 1 was another hair up on the neck moment. I could not believe a three-piece band could make such good music. I notice most of the old bands are double the personnel they once were when playing live. And that there are questions over whether they are playing live. It is not just politicians and their paid lackies in the MSM that lie:
One comment below it: “Henley is so protective of The Eagles’ music that he won’t even let The Eagles perform it”
If I have a QR code for tickets, I usually do a screen shot, send it to the wife and blame her, if she cannot get a signal to open her WhatsApp messages. This time the QR code had a ‘marching ants’ type border and would not allow that.
Cue the meltdown, as the App kept crashing, and I could not get a strong enough signal to recover it. After a hissy fit with plenty of Fs in the O2: my wife took my phone outside the stadium and came back with x2 QR codes on the screen, were in!
Another moment of anxiety soon follows: £9.50 a pint! “They are taking the piss” (more to follow) I bought a two-pint plastic jug of stout (old man drink) and saved a quid on two separate pints, plus it was easier to carry, especially with negotiating stairs and lots of people milling around. At those prices, I really could not justify buying a drink for the wife.
Seated, on the last two seats on the end of a row, watching the venue fill. And being entertained by the late comers struggling to see the seat row numbers after the lights were dimmed, helped by camera torches. Just ahead of Jarvis & Co producing a fantastic night of pop music.
Early in the gig the people in the row in front decided to stand up, but we didn’t, I glanced over my shoulder and those behind were still seated. The couple alongside were also stood. I wondered if others thought we were not enjoying the music, as we remained seated. We did stand to sing along with the one song everyone remembers Pulp for. And that was a wow moment, as audience participation was most impressive. Standing in tiered seating pretty much means all those behind need to do the same if you stand, your thoughts please?
I occasionally watch big live performances on YouTube and at those large standing only venues. The girl sat on the shoulders of her man gets my focus. One selfish bitch, and dozens of others behind that cannot see. I now can see why throwing bottles of urine is so popular at Oasis gigs. Now tickets for their upcoming concerts make £100 per ticket to see Pulp an absolute bargain.
No, I think what will do for me regards concerts and possibly other performances like plays, shows, cinema etc, is the reduced bladder capacity of the average Briton. This first came to our attention when we saw Wardrunha a few months back. Mid performance someone got up to go to the loo (we assumed) and the rest of the row had to stand to let that person out. Both Mr and Mrs GOG thought: how rude. But that was the first of many! There must had been at least a dozen people do the same. With the same inconvenience to others to go to the convenience.
Back to Pulp, we were at the end seats and had to stand (note to self: remain stood) for a half dozen times for the same people going past. One chap was quite witty and repeated “sorry, sorry” to every person he passed, and we had some good-natured banter. But what is it with modern human’s bladder sizes?
Check out this gig, it shows a few on shoulder (not all women) but imagine being in that crowd and thinking you need to go to the loo. I bet there were plenty of bike clips worn that night!
I have already written too many words, so I will leave the subject of sex/masturbation for Part 2
I will leave the last word to one of my musical heroes, this time Jarvis is in the 24 years hiatus between the last and new Pulp albums. But his lyrics (to my simplistic mind) are masterful.
I wonder if I can get him to write an article for FSB?