How Deep is Your Love?

The air is sticky and thick with the sickening smell of hairspray and fake tan.  Parading around in sky scraper heels, tiny outfits and backcombed beehives that would give Amy winehouse a run for her money, the women gather in scores as excitement fills the arena.  The crowd has miraculously materialized from nowhere.

Finally there is complete silience.  “Today this could be the greatest day of our lives…”  The melodious beat of the first chords send the audience into a complete feeding frenzy.  Amorous burts of cheers and blood curdling screams take over, making my body tremble and each starnd of hair stand on edge.  Women with layered on make up that would take a trowel and at least a week to scrape off, throw their heads back, fill their lungs and let out rip roaring screams.  The arena could be easily mistaken for a Busted concert crammed with hormonally charged teenage girls, however, don’t be fooled, this is no pre-adolescent concert, from behind, females everywhere in miniskirts exhibiting legs that havent seen the light of day in well over a decade, and low cut tops (tat show more than ample cleavage) could eaily pass as teenagers.  Until that dreaded moment they turn round that is!  There, hiding under three hours of unsuccessfull plucking, preening and moulding, is the tired old wife; tightly grasping onto that distant memory from her youth.  This is a Take That concert, bursting at the edges with middle aged yummy mummies in the tightest most revealing outfits, hoping to get a glimpse of the boys in action.

From every angle there are women screaming and  many dramatic outbursts of sobs,  these are not crocodile tears either.  These are real emotional salt soaked droplets mixed with happiness and utter shock at being within a one mile radius of the famous four.  The few men that have clearly been dragged here, look utterly terrified, one poor bloke in particular looks mortified as he stands a foot back from everyone else, caressing his beer and staring at his loafers.  More alarmingly however, is the is the amount of really young girls.  These innocent little girls don’t remember the band from the nineties, they weren’t even thought of then.  These women are both fascinating and eye opening all at the same time.  The general perception would be that when you reach a certain age a particular level of maturity kicks in and we hope to grow into sane individuals but here within the masses, this idea is shockingly deceiving. Within minutes these women are transformed from regular office girls or Starbucks mums with a two point four family into wild ferocious animals.  They will kick, claw and stamp over anyone who is stupid enough to get in the way of what could be their final glimpse of the boys live in action.  Many happily would sell their kid without a moments thought for five minutes alone with one of the band.

 Most of the people here remember the band from the 1990s when they emerged the first time round. They won the hearts of millions with ‘babe’ and a ‘million love songs’.  The split in 1996 spelled the tragic end to one of the nations greatest popstories.  Across countries, young girls generated in the masses at the news, and shockingly suicide lines were opened for the severely effected fans.  Half of which I’m sure are here today, judging by their reactions! The bands long awaited comeback hasn’t been in vain, it has had a global effect not only on fans but on every disbanded group that fancy their chances the second time around.  Thankfully very few have had a successful reunion.

 Studying the crowd I  pull my jacket further round my body covering the ‘I love Gary’ t-shirt,  a sudden realisation hits me like a wet slap in the face! Ok, so I didn’t come dressed in my little sisters school skirt but I did make an extra special effort. One day this could be me! ME? Parading around flashing my stretch marks in a low cut belly top throwing myself at the unobtainable.  

As the last firework fizzles out, girls are hugging each other with mascara stained faces, with many sprawled  on the floor, skirts failing to cover what’s left of their modesty.  Oh, and that very ashamed bloke I mentioned earlier? By the grin on his face you would think it had been a naked girls aloud concert!  But while the drunken women lie around on the floor chasing the past, I happily stumble over them (and the discarded alcohol bottles) into the future.

One comment

  1. I was reminded of the time I went to hear Cliff Ricahrd playing Healcliff in a musical. Audience – women mostly in their sixties. I came away with a feeling similar to your narrator’s – slightly embarrassed and sad.
    The atmosphere and mood are vividly captured in this piece.

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