The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]

Like many charitable causes of the time, it was an attempt to recreate the phenomenon of Live Aid … even though none ever did.

Anyway, due to Queen being rumoured to play, me, Paul and a guy called Chris decided we would catch the coach up to the city of steels so we could camp outside the stadium and ensure we were right at the front of the crowd for the concert.

Like many plans, it all went to shit.

It started off when we got off the bus and met a soldier who told us he has absconded from his army base and wanted to get away. He was obviously a bit spooked about the situation he found himself in but soon the conversation took on a menacing air and we felt very, very uncomfortable.

While I can’t remember all the facts about how we got rid of him, I’m pretty sure it involved going into a pub with him, buying him a drink and then – when he went to the loo – running for our lives.

Ahem.

Then there was the fact we got to the stadium and instead of finding thousands following our plan, we found no one. Not one.

Worse, it got so cold that at about 4am – after playing games of seeing how many times we could run back and forth across the road to keep ourselves warm – a passing police car forced a newsagent to open up so we could buy food and matches to get some heat.

And then, at around 8am – when we were feeling very confused that no one had joined us – we realised we were at the wrong fucking gate and all entrances were literally on the other side of the stadium.

By the time we got there, it was heaving and we discovered we were about as far from the front as we could possibly get. If that wasn’t enough of a disaster, we then discovered Queen were not going to play – nor were Def Leppard – but Five Star, Sister Sledge and Mica Paris.

No offence to all those artists, but it’s the equivalent of going to a concert to see the incredible blues guitarist Bo Diddley in concert only to learn you are actually seeing Bo Derek. And not in her prime.

In fact the whole thing was a certifiable disaster except for 3 things.

1. Paul yawned the biggest yawn ever seen in the history of mankind. Just as the BBC decided to zoom in on his face during their live broadcast. While Heaven 17 were playing on stage … resulting in the most passive aggressive ‘concert review’ ever written without words.

2. I got to hang out with the beautiful and wonderful Jenny Powell. She wasn’t well known then – and I didn’t know her at all – but she was epic and made the disaster of the day much better.

3. This.

Yes, that is what you think it is.

Proof that even desperation can’t counter the British need to queue for everything.

Regardless of the situation or the implication.

Which highlights two wonderful things to remember whenever you’re having an utterly horrific or just plain terrible day …

1. Someone, somewhere is having something far worse than you.

2. If you’re lucky, that someone having a worse day than you is actually in front of you because you will suddenly find your day is much better.

I know … I know … what a psychopathic bastard eh?

I must admit, I often wonder who that young man was?

What was thinking at the moment of explosion?

Does he still hear the laughter and jeers from the people behind him?

Has he ever worn light coloured trousers ever again?

The only thing I do know is that while my day at Sport Aid went from terrible to good, I’m pretty certain his opinion of the worst concert in the history of concerts goes the other way around.

And for that I thank him, because his humiliation was my jubilation.

Now that’s the true definition of human generosity.

Or bastardness.