I’ve been trying to write this post ever since I decided it would be a good idea. That’s the trouble with perfectionism. It can keep you stuck. I don’t know why I’ve found it hard to write for the past couple of weeks. The ideas just haven’t been flowing quite as well as usual. Maybe it’s end of year-itis. Maybe it’s just normal. But, here we are, with probably my last post of 2025 despite my best efforts at self-sabotage.

This is a tale of firsts. Ostensibly, my first solo gig. But there’s something deeper going on here too.

As a naturally sociable, people-person, I’ve always associated doing stuff – days out, cinema, dinner, and definitely going to concerts – with the company of other people. Why would you not want to share such wonderful experiences with other humans; especially humans you’re close to, and vibe with? I’ve always considered doing social things alone as worse than not going at all. It’s a deep-seated fear in me that I’m just starting to fully understand. Seriously though- hats off to anyone who can go solo. Up till now, it’s not been for me.

Of course, the ex-foster care kid who’s always felt like an outsider would feel the stab of loneliness at the very idea of going to something as innocuous as a gig on her own. Thanks so much, childhood trauma and neurodiversity! In my imagination, I’d already built this thing up to be something it was never likely to be. As if the whole of Cambridge Junction (standing capacity, 850 people) was going to suddenly drop their pints in shock, stop their chatter, and turn to stare at me as I walked in…. gasp!….alone? I realise this sounds pretty narcissistic. I promise you the only thing going through my head as I played this out, was me standing there with the spotlight of shame shining brightly on my head, feeling naked and exposed by my obvious lack of companionship.

The wild thing is, I have lots of friends who love and cherish me deeply. I’m never short of invitations to nights out and holidays. I’m the comedian who’s never short of a hilarious anecdote or sharp-witted punchline. Viscerally I know this. So why have I waited 55 years to go on a night out alone? I wrote about the feeling of loneliness recently. A very different thing to actually being lonely. Solitude and solo-ness does not equal loneliness, unless you’re inside my brain that is.

Two things influenced my decision to get the fuck up off my backside and take myself to this gig:

1) The dark: There’s something inviting about the anonymity afforded by the dark. I might have thought twice about going to a larger venue. Because of the lights. Everyone would be able to see I was on my own. But Cambridge Junction is dark, and small. The walls and ceiling are painted black. You could 100% blend into the background in there; especially dressed as I was in head-to-toe black.

2) I’m a huge music fan: I was once married to a professional session & touring musician. I love everything about that world. Gigs (and writing) are my happy place. I’d only spotted that Doves were playing a few days ahead of the event, by which time of course, it was a sell-out. No matter. I set up an alert on Twickets and patiently waited. At 1pm on the day of the gig I got a message. One ticket had become available. I cannot tell you how long my finger hovered over that bright yellow BUY button. Should I? Shouldn’t I? In the end of course I did find myself the owner of a QR code, otherwise this would have been a much shorter story.

As it turned out, by far the hardest part was hitting that BUY button. The dithering. The shall-I, shan’t-I overthinking – in hindsight – was such a waste of brain space. But that’s me. I’m an over-thinker. Not one person stopped to stare at me as I walked towards the bar, alone. They were all too busy with their own circle to worry about what I was up to. Phew. I’m aware this is very me-me-me. Which makes me sound like a wanker. I promise you I’m not. I’m just someone who’s pretty insecure, still, and should probably just get over herself and start actually living.

Which is kind of the point of this piece.

After paying my dues to the gods of the bar queue (vertical queuing Lewis Holmes, wtaf?), I shuffled off, pint in hand, to seek out a spot for the evening. And here’s where positive number 1 showed up: Oh! The joy of not having to chat, whilst simultaneously cursing middle-aged hearing loss and yelling replies that probably bore no relationship to the actual question being asked (and would inevitably result in a cursed sore throat the next day).

I easily found a spot quite near the front (which in a venue this tiny, wasn’t actually that hard). And that’s when positive number 2 became apparent: Due I think to the middle- aged demographic (the band’s heyday being early 2000’s) the vibe in the room was pretty civilised. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I wouldn’t have a pissed-up (or worse) twenty-something standing on my toes eleventy-billion times, elbowing me in the ribs, then spilling their pint down my back. All whilst ‘watching’ the event through the lens of their smartphone. Phew! It was unlikely there would be trouble coming from any of these grey-haired men in fur-trimmed parkas. The only thing that made me feel a little out of place wasn’t that I was alone, it was being female. I guess a band made up entirely of middle-aged blokes was likely to attract, well, a middle-aged bloke audience?

Shortly after the band strummed their first chords, negative number 1 became immediately apparent: The trio next to me, consisting of two girls and a bloke, were not going to shut up. While the rest of the audience politely, and somewhat reverentially bobbed their heads in time with the music (plus the odd bit of middle-aged shuffling from one foot to the other), the girls showed no signs of awareness of their environment. The fact that they clearly weren’t down their local having a good old catch-up had passed them by. No need to panic I thought. Just ignore them. They’ll stop in a minute. How wrong I was! They did not stop talking, even when ‘annoyed bald bloke’ tapped one of them on the shoulder and put his finger to his lips in the universally understood shut the fuck up sign.

I swear I have a talent for picking out the most annoying people to stand next to at gigs, no matter the size of the audience. This happened to me and my daughter when we went to see Massive Attack last summer. Somehow, in the (again) middle-aged crowd, we managed to plant ourselves next to a girl holding two helium balloons that blocked our view (and the view of pretty much every person behind us). That particular incident ended with one very brave and extremely enraged young man piling through the crowd from at least 10 rows back to stab the offending balloons with a set of keys. It could have been worse, I suppose.

As the band warmed into their set, so the girls next to me warmed into their pints and their incessant conversation (which imho they could easily have taken to the bar at this point; a solution surely more conducive to whatever burning topics of conversation could not possibly wait another moment, and to those of us forced to share the space with them). One of them was getting very animated. Even before she started pogoing around like a flea on acid, she was incapable of being still. With every (shouted) word that flew out of her mouth, her body would twist and weave back and forth like a ripe corn stalk blowing in a summer breeze. She barely drew breath. It would have been quite remarkable had it not been so bloody infuriating. Of course, as soon as something starts to get under your skin, it’s really hard to stop it derailing your enjoyment. I tried as best I could to block out her selfish/unaware/drunken (I wasn’t sure which applied here) behaviour, and even managed to for a short while. Yes, I could have moved. But by this time I was fully surrounded by Tall Men. I would never have been able to see the stage properly had I left my spot. Two short guys behind me were even crosser. Apparently, all tall people should be forced to stand at the back.

Negative number two: When the instantly recognisable opening arpeggios of “There goes the fear” fired up, she stepped it up a notch. We were now in full-on pogo-mode. ‘Bald bloke in front’ had his head bashed a couple of times by her flying fist-pumps; a scenario that would no doubt have turned out quite differently had it been a bloke on the other end of said fists. Mercifully at this point, annoying girl’s husband/boyfriend/friend grabbed her around the waist and pulled her away from the potentially tricky situation unfolding in front of us all. Of course, it was such shame to spoil her fun.

With relative calm being restored, we were all able to enjoy the performance one again. This song was such a banger, but I’ve never really stopped to appreciate the lyrics before.

There goes the fear

Close your brown eyes

And lay down next to me

Close your eyes, lay down

‘Cos there goes the fear

Let it go

You turn around and life’s passed you by

As the words enveloped the crowd and the original video from 14 years ago played on a screen, it felt like the whole room took a deep exhale. 850 middle-aged music fans seemed to simultaneously grasp the collective weight of the words. Fuck! Maybe we are letting our lives pass us by? Shit! We definitely have less life in front of us than we do behind us.

And all of a sudden, that fear of going to a gig on my own felt tiny. Stupid even. I’ve wasted so much time worrying about what others think and fearing the unknown that, somehow, I’ve forgotten to actually live.

The honest truth is, no one gives a hoot about what the other person is doing. We’re all too tied up in our own insecurities and neuroticisms to give a flying fuck.

Go to the gig on your own.

Do the thing that’s making you feel scared.

Just live.

Sounds like a cliché? Yes it is, but the truth is, since none of us knows how long we have on this planet, we may as well crack on and enjoy our time. After all, we’re a tiny, insignificant collection of cells, stuck on a spinning lump of rock in this huge constellation we call home.