Too old to mosh?
I’ve long accepted that I’m too old to go out drinking on a work night, unless I’m prepared to feel like death all the way through the morning meeting. I’ve even accepted I’m probably too old to wear a mini skirt, unless it’s winter and I put on tights so think they might as well be leggings. But there’s no way I will accept that I’m too old to mosh at concerts, despite the horror of my friends that I still insist on heading down to the front of the stage, no matter who the act is or how big the venue. Sometimes they act like they’re sending me off to war without forces insurance. Don’t worry – I’ll come back alive!!
Dancing at the back of a gig just isn’t the same as getting stuck in among the packed, sweaty crowd at the barriers. Some of my best memories of gigs are of getting kicked in the face by this guitarist or spat on by that lead singer. How many people nodding their heads at the bar and looking cool can say they have ever left a venue with their t-shirt (and their modesty) hanging by a thread?
I guess one day I’ll have to accept that it’s no longer healthy for me to squeeze my ageing frame into the midst of all the bouncy teenagers. Maybe when I get a Zimmer frame? After all, I can’t imagine the security guards and bouncers being too happy that I’m carrying that towards a stage. I could end up using it as a weapon, after all. Mind you, could come in useful to clamber up on the heads of the guys around me for a bit of OAP crowd surfing!
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