Awww, have I mentioned that I was absolutely buzzing after gorgeous Liam Gallagher’s Gig this week.
Bloody Biblical with Darling Daughter and I moving out of Motorpoint, with hearts happy, memorable Merch bought, aching mosh pit pain.
And voices so lost that we had to have a McFlurry on the way home so we could belt our Be Here Now in the Beemer.
Safe in my Sanctuary, it’s then time for my exclusive invite only post Gig party for one.
It’s a given that I’ll be dancing around the room, singing shakily to the songs, and watching the walls wobble with sound, as I come down from those magical musical moments.
As soon as sunlight starts, this writer scurries into the study to throw all my memories and musings on screen.
Until I finally come back to earth with a bump – and what a moody memory it was this time.
Gallagher was gorgeous but some of my fellow Liam lovers were the absolute pits.
Jeesus Wept, what is it with the throwing of full pints of pee at us poor punters at nearly every gig worth going to in Cardiff.
Bizarrely, this only ever happens in this city – think we’ve got a wee problem with this shower…in more ways than one!
Thank God I was wearing a leather jacket that’s swiftly saved by a quick wipe down with a wet dishcloth and a spritz of freshening Febreze.
Lucky also that the Neanderthals who threw the steaming pots had aims as bad as their manners or I would have been in for a seven hour long shower too.
Some poor sods had it much wetter and much worse. I’ve just been reading all the tabloid tales of soaked skin, complete clothes stink, and jackets that can never be worn again.
Liam has offered his heartfelt apology with many fabulous fans also voicing their contempt and criticism.
But, the general consensus from some men, and it is only men who wee in a pint and throw it, is that this is just the norm at a lairy and loud gig.
And if we women and ‘lightweights’ don’t like it then we should stay at home or sit at the back.
Well, I must have missed the memo Mate because in what warped world is seeing a raucous rocker synonymous with being drenched in some random bloke’s pee.
And let’s be honest, you totally do it for the sheer disgusting delight don’t you.
You don’t pee in a pint to save your spot, you get perverted pleasure at lobbing said pee at your fellow fans down the front.
If you are that desperate then you’d just go discreetly, and quietly place on the floor.
I’m not condoning that at all but soggy Superstars or grimy Gazelles is a damn sight better than clothes, hair, and even some poor bloke’s face drenched in the stuff.
In my view, this deliberate behaviour is stomach churning, absolutely disgusting, and I see no solution in sight other than a blanket booze ban inside the actual Gig.
But whether you have or haven’t got a pot to pish in, you mean-spirited males certainly won’t stop this gritty Gig Girl from pursuing her long-time love of live music.
And I’ll always be at the front, in the mosh pit, or sat ringside, so I can get right up close and personal with one of the pure passions of my life.
I’ll just have to don my waterproof Festival Parka and dust off my Stone Roses bucket hat now so I can weather the urine storm with style.
Shame on you.
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Sue Vincent-Jones, writing as Mrs SVJ, is a Barry born journalist, editor, and communications specialist. She blogs, and writes, about all things Barry – and her life in the wider world, through the eyes of a, quirky and queer, local girl done good.
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