Friday night, wrote Mr Kipling, I stood in a field in the rain watching small figures the size of Hornby railway figures play some loud music I had heard before.

It would be very easy, at this point, to descend into a straight-forward review of Radiohead on Glasgow Green on Friday night, but I wouldn’t be saying anything new. The highs were high, the lows were all those tracks that you generally skip over when the randomiser chooses them (so they’re not going to be all that welcome while standing in the rain).

So, my third time seeing Radiohead live was much like all the others. Half of the best gig ever. Nuff said.*

I would prefer, at this juncture, to discuss my descent into middle age.**

Now, I was lucky enough to have got the tickets as a present (Thanks sis) so I didn’t pay the £40 to get ‘in’. But I imagine most of other attendees did pay the money and, instead of standing, watching and listening they:

  • walked back and forward endlessly to get drinks
  • just walked about a lot, usually past me
  • took or smoked drugs (some to extreme excess)

I’m not taking any moral stance on any of this. Walking, drinking, drugging are all things that people can do if they want. But why pay £40 to do it on a wet grass field in the rain?

It’s just plain stupid. My name is Victor Meldrew. Goodnight. (no encore).

* although I did really like the sing-a-long during the slow bit of Paranoid Android (“rain down” etc), the crowd singing along was quite apt, sad and laconic, it felt like the tribute song the Zulu’s sang after the battle of Rorke’s Drift, well, it did to me, maybe I’m just… yes, ok…
** there is a strong possibility that I’ve always been like this