On balance, I had an amazing time at the Foo Fighters last night. I was volunteering on the mobility team – that is, being available to assist wheelchair patrons to their seats – and I was stationed next to the stairs heading down to the field. So, needless to say, my responsibilities were slim and mostly related to direction-giving. Which was just as well because it was raining raining raining.
But duties aside, I was free to watch the concert. I got amongst it down on the field and had an awesome time in all the rain and glory (and by glory I mean a not fully capable pelvic floor). There was something freeing about being down there on my own, not wondering where your friends are or what anyone thinks of you, just enjoying the music and cheering and dancing and jumping. The energy of the crowd was invigorating, the volume, the lights, the music. I was just one small dot in a stadium of 40,000 rocking on in the rain. The rain made it even more awesome. The glow from the stage lighting up slanting raindrops as they fell constantly throughout the night. The cool water dancing on your face. Everyone is wet and poncho-garbed and having an awesome time. Surges and crescendos of drum solos and choruses filled me with energy and made me break out into a grin. I felt like an actual person enjoying themselves in a world outside of nappy changes, refused food and constant whining. A bit more human.
But I also felt a tinge of being totally uncool. Like I wasn’t cool enough to be at a rock concert. I knew more of the opening act’s songs than of the Foo Fighter’s. (To be fair, they’re touring with Weezer so, yeah). I was on my own, and I didn’t even know many of the words to the songs I did know. I gave a ride home to two people who had met at the concert and were obviously going home together and thought about my child car seat in the back and how even in the past I never would have gone home with someone I met at a concert. I’d like to think that I would, monogamous relationship notwithstanding. But anyway, it sort of made me feel like I’m in “Mum” category, the one where you ferry your kids places and don’t stay out late except when you do it’s to volunteer at concerts not to actually attend them in full as an activity. Like being a parent means I can’t be a liberated partying concert-goer who hooks up with beautiful strangers. And it wasn’t even that they were young and I felt like I was the parent-taxi; these two people were approximately my age or thereabouts. So feeling sort of like a wannabe put a mild dampener on the evening.
But, on balance, I had a fun night. The Foo Fighters put on an amazing show, Weezer were fantastic (although I’ll confess the first opening act Ayn Randy were really not for me) and it was a great concert. I just got in there an enjoyed the music and the atmosphere and rain and everything.
And then I came home to my beautiful sleeping baby. (He was a
pain in the ass challenge in the morning but hey I guess I’ll take what I can get.)
Sorry, no sweet concert photos because I DROPPED MY PHONE IN THE FUCKING TOILET.