Little did I know that starting point would put me on a collision course to have a deeply disappointing end to my Olympic experience. More than most people ... I should have stayed home.
As an employee of sponsor BT, I'd managed to snag tickets to the closing concert in Hyde Park, taking place in parallel to the closing ceremonies. We'd had a one-day window before tickets went on sale to the general public. I was in a hurry, I didn't do any research, I just purchased.
Several bands were on the agenda. New Order. Fab. Knew them from university days. The Specials. Never heard of 'em. Blur. No clue what they sang, but knew they were big in the '90s and very aware of one of their members, Alex James, who makes gourmet cheese and hosts "The A to Z of classical music" on classic FM. But this was billed as an Olympic closing ceremony event. So I made the assumption that this would be some huge, communal watching of the closing ceremonies taking place across town. Since it was in Hyde Park, in the best tradition of country house "last night of the proms" concerts, we'd spread picnic blankets on the grass, eat lovely food, drink wine and be entertained. I assumed the bands were warm up acts to the communal viewing, a few songs each before we got down to the business of the big show from the Olympic Park.
I had precisely 10 minutes in which I lived this fantasy. The big screens were tuned to the BBC. We all cheered when Prince Harry arrived. 100,000 voices around me joined in the national anthem. Then Madness came on with Our House, and everyone started singing along. Fabulous. Although I wished everyone would sit down. And then ... off went the BBC and on came Blur. I was furious. And disappointed. But I'm not stupid. By that point, I'd figured that's what was coming.
I'd started to clue in when we entered the park around 6. New Order was playing. Stuff I recognised. Lovely. But it wasn't a scene of gracious picnic blankets. There wasn't even any grass. A huge area had been covered with wood chips because of the traffic. Turns out BT London Live had been hosting bands here for two weeks. Most people were standing up. It was hot. And dusty. And it all looked a lot more like those music festivals I see on TV, those ones where I wonder why any idiot would subject themselves to the physical discomfort and crowds. Certainly not like any event on the grounds of the local National Trust pile. Still, we managed to spread a blanket and a couple of people went off in search of drinks. The queues were 45 minutes long. Yes, you weren't allowed to bring liquids into the park for security reasons, yet getting any liquid was an endurance test. My mood was souring.
The answer was five songs through the Blur set. Unpleasant music + thirst + tiredness + the inability to sit down = I don't care if everyone thinks I'm an old woman, I'm out of here. I walked to the tube grateful, at least, that I was getting out ahead of the crowd, but really irritated ... at myself ... that I'd wasted the money and the time on something I could have predicted I'd hate, had I done my research properly. And feeling particularly sour that my lovely Olympic buzz had been killed by this last night disappointment.
Fortunately, my husband (who'd come down with a cold and thus avoided the whole adventure) had taped the closing ceremonies for me, which I've been watching while writing this. Not a patch on the opening ceremonies, but plenty of music I liked and recognised. Eric Idle and the roller skating nuns, frankly, was so magnificent as to eclipse any other disappointment. And I was happy to note that I had much of the night's running order on my iPod, including the youngest and newest of the bands. (One Direction's You Don't Know Your Beautiful.)
So I may not be cool, but I'm not the grumpy old woman the Blur concert made me feel. Right?
No comments:
Post a Comment