The Beautiful South

On Saturday night I went to Hammersmith to see The Beautiful South in concert.

What a fantastic night. I went with a very good friend of mine who'd always wanted to see them. As soon as I saw tickets were available I bought a couple so that we could go. She was really looking forward to it.

We travelled up, found a pub, had a few drinks and a much needed chat and then went to the gig.

Unfortunately, it started to go wrong from that point. Behind us was a guy who, let's be honest, had probably had one too many and then compounded the mistake by drinking a bottle of vodka and a barrel of Old Jim's Arse-Clenchingly Strong Bitter.

The guy was drunk to the point of being a complete twat which, ironically, he was anyway. He made a noise, throughout the gig, which I can only describe as gruff hooting. At the beginning of every song, at the end of every song, even during the songs themselves. "Yeah!", "Hoo!" and "Aaaargh!" punctuated every finely crafted tune.

I saw my friend becoming more and more annoyed throughout as the guy was just behind her and shouting in her ear.

Now, I should explain at this point that I'm not a fighter. I'm a thinker and a lover and a run-awayer. In a fight, the best that I can hope for is that whatever assailant is pummelling me somehow slips in my blood and breaks their neck. So, accordingly, I sat and did that very English thing of tutting loudly, but not loudly enough to be actually heard by anything other than say, a dog with extremely acute hearing.

In the end, I lost my temper, rounded on the guy and said in a loud voice, "You do realise that your constant hooting is not only ruining this concert for both myself and my friend here, but every other person present. If you can't control yourself, can I suggest that you leave and find a pub as, clearly, a man with your lack of regard for anyone else can only find a friend in the bottom of a pint glass. Now please, for the love of God, shut up."

The entire building fell silent. Even the band stopped playing. Then, a single person started clapping. Another joined. Then another. Finally, the entire audience were applauding and cheering. The man, obviously mortified, stood up and left whereupon, I have no doubt, he probably threw himself in front of a train.

I was carried, shoulder-high, over the audience onto the stage where the band slapped me on the back and invited me to duet with the lead singer on a particularly innovative version of 'You're the one that I want'.

I was taken backstage after the gig, given large quantities of Crack Cocaine and white rum, and fellated by the lead female singer.

All in all a fabulous evening, and another victory for good manners and courage.

Note: Some of the above may not be entirely true.