I have a confession to make.
I am going to the One Direction concert tomorrow night.
CALM YOUR TITS, EVERYONE!
CALM. YOUR. TITS.
This is not a joke. I really am going.
I’ve put together this brief Q & A to answer some of the most common questions I have encountered in relation to this decision.
HUGZILLA vs 1D: FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS
How old are you?
I am 38 years old.
Are you a One Direction fan?
No, I do not consider myself to be a One Direction fan. If pressed, I would place myself in the category of “mildly-appreciative onlooker”.
Do you enjoy their music?
Yes, I find myself enjoying the odd tune of theirs. I find it vastly superior to a lot of the fanny-rubbing caterwauling that passes for popular music these days.
Did you pay actual money for this?
No, I did not pay for the ticket. My sister-in-law paid, and I’m pretty sure it’s her way of getting me back for the hack-job review I did of her daughters’ end of year dance recital, where I came to the eminently sensible conclusion that root canal was a vastly more enjoyable experience than kids’ dance concerts. (I wrote about it here on Woogsworld, in case you missed it).
This is her revenge. This is my penance.
Do you have a favourite 1D member?
No, I do not have a favourite, but if I did I think it would be Zayn. I watched the One Direction “This is Us” documentary the other day and he kind of seemed like he didn’t want to be there. I can relate to that feeling.
Why are you doing this? WHY?!
I jumped at the chance to have a night away from the kids. Shoot me. This is the soul-destroying reality of being a parent, when the prospect of standing in a stadium for two hours with 40 000 squealing teenagers whilst sustaining permanent hearing loss sounds like a pretty good Saturday night.
What are you wearing?
The paint is still drying on the custom-screen print I did of the 1D logo on a hot pink bum bag.
I’m also packing two sets of these babies.
Are you ashamed of yourself?
Yes. My 16 year old self would punch me in the face if she knew about this.
Dude, what HAPPENED to you?
I don’t know. I guess “children” happened to me.
I read “The Beauty Myth” by Naomi Wolf when I was 16. I discovered Bikini Kill and riot grrrl feminist punk. I wrote zines. I made mix-tapes scattered with maudlin Belle & Sebastian ballads and ear-shredding missives by Big Black. I bought lo-fi indie records on vinyl. I did an internship at 2SER community radio. I used to chain smoke Marlboro Lights in grungy cafes and talk about post-structuralism for hours. I maxed out the indie-snob richter-scale when I was interviewed by Alison Galloway from Smudge for a job at Waterfront Records. I used to read the plays of fucking Chekhov.
I was a total WANKER. But I had a social life. And good taste in music.
Fast forward twenty years: I am 38 years old, I have two kids and I’m going to the One Direction concert on a Saturday night for kicks.
Stay tuned for my forthcoming review of the concert, right here on Hugzilla blog. I really wish I could Live Tweet it, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be the only person in the 40 000-strong crowd that doesn’t have a smart phone.
At least one thing about me hasn’t changed in 20 years.
My mobile phone.