I spent an interesting few hours on Saturday endeavouring to procure a couple of tickets for next years Oasis comeback tour. Stood ironing while I queued for tickets to watch the rebellious Mancunian rockstars, I concluded how much the episode painted a strange juxtaposition.
Cliché has it that us Brits love to queue. And, as I have lots of time on my hands since retiring early, spending a few minutes waiting in line doesn’t ordinarily ‘press my buttons’. However, when logging on to find I was around 180,000th in that queue my heart sank.
Put it this way, if my local Post Office had 179,000 people queuing for stamps, padded envelopes, foreign currency, or a bag of gummy bears I’d probably give the shop a wide berth.
However, when there’s an opportunity to attend a musical moment in time, despite seeing the band live in the late noughties, I wanted to be part of that experience. Concluding, this musical comeback would only be bettered if John Lennon and George Harrison returned from the dead and The Beatles played Glastonbury.
At the end of the Oasis gig yours truly attended at Sheffield Arena, circa 2007, I left the event with mixed feelings. Euphoria borne from hearing Noel Gallagher’s superb anthems live. However, the elation was tempered from not knowing whether I’d succumbed to a covering of urine. This liquid waste launched by numerous spectators over fellow audience members; an act they deemed an acceptable piece of rebellious ‘fun’.
However, that ambiguity did not spoil that 2007 evening. Moreover, as I walked back towards my car, I thought of Liam’s “Mad for it!” catchphrase he oft uses to express enthusiasm. I concluded I must be mad for Oasis songs to subject myself and my (then) 17-year-old son to the South Yorkshire audience’s golden showers.
Anyhow, time is a great healer, as the Barnsley Time Is a Great Healer Society often posit. Consequently, the jeopardy of a further dowsing in wee was not enough to put me off seeking a ticket for next year’s reunion gigs.
What was enough to scupper my plans was the biggest demand for tickets since Willy Wonka concealed five golden vouchers in his chocolate bars; offering each finder a lifetime supply of chocolate and a free Jedward tattoo.
It took me an hour to just get onto my Ticketmaster account. And when I was able to log in I was 180,000th in the queue. An online counter which seemed to diminish with the haste of a mouse carrying an anvil… Note – Other rodents and heavy engineering tools are available.
As I ironed and waited for the opportunity to procure tickets, I thought of the experience as a metaphor of Don’t Look Back in Anger’s chorus lyrics. Like Sally I could wait, even though I knew it was too late and saw my chances (of tickets) walking on by. With my soul sliding away, like Sally, after four hours, I closed my session down bereft of entrance vouchers for next year’s gigs.
Did I look back in anger? Nope… I merely started playing an Oasis playlist on Apple Music, before logging back on to secure tickets for Ironing World 2025. A laundry jamboree which admittedly won’t raise my brio levels as much as an Oasis gig… On the plus side, though, at least I won’t stink of piss when I leave that event!
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