hope I die before I get old ...

Not really. Well, not often.

I went to see a band on Saturday night. It's not unusual. I love live music.

The band are called Brand New. They've been around for about 10 years and I've been a fan for 2 or 3. Like much of the contemporary music I listen to, my younger daughter introduced them to me with the immortal words: Listen to this, Mum. You'll like it. Thanks to her wisdom Muse, Green Day, Billy Talent, Lostprophets, Placebo and Jimmy Eat World (yes, really) sit happily on my iPod next to Joe Jackson, Runrig, Sarah McLachlan, Miriam Jones, The Rolling Stones & The Who.

But Saturday night was different. For a start, Himself™ accompanied me. I think you'll find it a bit loud. It was. And rather screamy. Yup.
Then, the sound wasn't brilliant.
And, to cap it all, next to me were an older couple, accompanying their daughter, who made it very clear that they hated every noisy minute of the gig. I did try not to let their obvious lack of enjoyment affect mine, but it was hard.
They were also less than impressed by my clapping and singing.

Beneath us, in the arena, the kids leapt up and down, threw beer and body-surfed to the music.
And I was wondering if I was, perhaps, just a little old to keep playing in this particular sandpit?

I shall probably continue to wonder. I am, unfortunately, given to a tad too much introspection.

However, I shall have to put off the decision for a while, as I have tickets to see Lostprophets next month, Louis Eliot in March, Biffy Clyro in May, Mark Knopfler in June, the Latitude Festival in July and Muse in September.

(And just to keep my options open, I recently heard my friends' daughter (a cellist) play Mozart & Sibelius. It was sublime.)