From now on, unless it's a sit down event, my concert days are over
You know you've reached the stage where you're too old for outdoor concerts when you bring camping chairs with you. And anoraks. And the only thing you're thinking about as you enter the venue is the toilet situation and how bad it will be. When you get to that point, really, your music festival days are over.
But it was Lionel Richie. I didn't think I'd be too old for Lionel Richie. You can NEVER be too old for Lionel Richie. So off we traipsed to Punchestown with our matching camping chairs, our anoraks and our comfortable shoes looking forward to a nice mellow day of music, fresh air and a few relaxing bevvies.
In my enthusiasm I had forgotten about all the hassle of going to an outdoor gig in the middle of bloody nowhere.
A bus drops you miles from where you're going. Then you walk...and walk...and walk before you queue...and queue...and queue.
By the time we got in the elder lemons had well and truly set out their stalls and the place was strewn with camping chairs, blankets, rugs, picnic baskets and cooler boxes. Meanwhile the younger crowd hovered at the back just waiting to surge forward for the main event, blocking the view of every poor cratur that had been stuck to their camping chair since 2 p.m.
Himself asked me what did I want to drink. I saw a sign for Prosecco. 'Get me a prosecco...a pint of prosecco! This could be a long day.'
Of course drinking a pint of prosecco not only makes you drunk but makes you want to wee and at my age if you gotta go, you really gotta go. I joined the pilgrimage to the toilets.
Twenty minutes of crossing my legs and I realised women were going into the gents. I dithered for a few seconds but my bladder got the better of me and leaving my self respect and dignity in the queue I made a dash, holding my nose and closing my eyes.
It took half an hour to find Himself in the crowd, just as well he has a big head and finally the moment we were waiting for-Lionel takes to the stage.
Suddenly there was a massive surge of youngsters pushing their way to the front. Being an aul wan full of prosecco I had no problem tapping them on the shoulder and saying 'watch it' but others, I suspect felt a bit intimidated and packed up their camping chairs and left.
The concert was brilliant. Lionel Richie the ultimate showman. Not brilliant, however was the hour long queue for a bus followed by an hour long wait for a taxi to bring us back to the hotel. 'My bunions are killing me' I muttered as I finally collapsed into bed.
I know when to quit! Unless it's sit down from now on, my concert days are over.