Toronto, 27th April 2019

On Saturday, the day of the second show, the clouds above Toronto have lifted sufficiently for me to proceed with my main planned tourist activity for the weekend, a trip up the CN Tower. The views are spectacular, and with more wandering, the day passes swiftly enough.

However, my anxiety regarding tonight’s show has reached ridiculous levels, and I try hopelessly to talk myself into a calmer mindset. Following the issues with security last night, I am unsure how best to play things tonight, and with just a 6th row ticket to show, I attempt to resign myself to being a little further back from the stage. Since I am tall, this would not be such a great calamity, so I really need to stop stressing about it. Not a chance.

Once again, I arrive at the venue a little before doors, and notice straight away that there are more people here than there were at the same time last night. Once inside the lobby, as before, we wait at the auditorium doors, and once again, there are more people queuing here than last night, although I am still not far from the front. Chatting with the people around me, it seems many were also here last night, and have realised they needed to get here earlier to get a good spot at the stage. There are grumblings about row numbers, uncertainty about etiquette, and some ‘them and us’ attitude which I am not comfortable with, towards the familiar faces at the front of the line.

Just then, one of those familiar faces approaches me, and in the friendliest manner, follows up on a kind message she had sent me some six months ago regarding one of my blog articles. I know who she is, but haven’t spoken to her before, and am, as always, a little surprised at how easily recognisable I seem to be. I always thought I was fairly commonplace and forgettable, but perhaps it’s just my own ineptitude at recognising people that makes me surprised when other people manage such a simple thing. (I had just embarrassed myself by failing to recognise the guy who stood by me last night) She gives me a 4th row ticket that she doesn’t need, and chats some more before disappearing, leaving me feeling unexpectedly pleased at this recognition and seating upgrade, but leaving the people around me now looking at me as if I am an imposter from an enemy camp whose cover has just been blown.

However, my attention is now turned towards the opening of the doors. Tonight I am ready, and while most people continue down the side aisle that the doors open onto, I branch off to a more central aisle which is wide open, and with no security in sight to object, I break into full sprint, crashing into the stage at the bottom of the slope next to my ticket sharing friend. I then very cheekily ask her to swap places with me so I have the aisle, rather than any seats, directly behind me, wishing to avoid a repeat of last night’s scenario, and thinking she is more likely to survive a ticket inspection.

I find I am now surrounded by familiar people from the UK tour, including a guy I had met in Leeds, the ladies from California who I had met in Glasgow and Dublin, and a lady I had stood behind on a few occasions, who now reaches along the edge of the stage to shake my hand. I apologise to her that I have never properly introduced myself, being always in a state of high excitement and talking excited nonsense when I meet her. I then proceed to talk more excited nonsense to her. There really is no hope for me in these situations.

There now ensues 75 minutes of extreme anxiety whilst security prowl and I am in constant fear of losing my dream spot that I so dearly wish to keep. Not daring to turn around, I listen in agony as others have their tickets checked and are subsequently sent back to their seats. The lady on my left has her ticket checked twice during this time. And desperately trying to sink into the ground, I am quite sure I will be next. But miraculously, I escape scrutiny. Have I actually succeeded in wishing myself invisible?

I have never been quite so relieved to see Lypsinka appear, a video clip that always makes me breathless with anticipation, and once Morrissey is on the stage I know I am home free, and there is nothing left to do but to marvel at my incredible luck and enjoy the show.

I shake Morrissey’s hand just two songs into the set, to further send my spirits into orbit, little knowing that the best is yet to come for me.

I find it quite impossible to describe the atmosphere at the front of a Morrissey show, and my feelings at being a part of it. It simply has to be experienced. I just can’t explain, so I won’t even try to.

My kind ticket sharing friend adds a supportive element to this atmosphere, budging us all over at one point to make room once more at the stage for a young lady who had somehow been ousted from her spot. I hear her speaking to someone just behind me, and a few moments later she suddenly ducks down, and in a flash, a man has sprung up through the gap and onto the stage for a handshake. We push him towards Morrissey to help him counter the opposing push of the security guy, and he makes it. She later asks me if I would like to get on the stage, and I express my fears, mostly by pulling silly faces, but she concludes that next time Morrissey comes near we should have a try.

This is all the encouragement I need. Morrissey is singing Everyday is like Sunday, and I know he often shakes hands and receives stage invaders during this song. He is walking the stage, microphone off the stand, and when he comes within a few feet of us my friend gives a signal and quickly ducks down in the same way I had seen her do earlier. It’s now or never!

I hoist myself up on to the edge of the stage, and as expected, am immediately set upon by Morrissey’s on stage security who pushes at me and barks at me to get back down. But I already have a firm hold of Morrissey’s outstretched hand and nothing is going to stop me now. I feel a strong pull, and the next thing I know, I am on my feet and standing right next to him.

It always somewhat irks me to see people get on the stage and throw themselves recklessly at Morrissey, knocking or pulling him off balance, or half strangling him by hooking their arms around his neck, and in my anxiety not to be one of these people, I go to the other extreme and put my arms around him as gently as if he were made of eggshells. Perhaps he is so precious to me I’m afraid he will break! The scent of his perfume hits me more strongly than ever, and as I withdraw I say a ‘thank-you’ quietly in his ear. I’ve no idea if he can hear me, but I say it anyway, not wishing to shout.

As soon as I return to my spot on the floor I turn to thank my friend with a hug, which she returns with enthusiasm, and then keeps her hand on my shoulder whilst I dissolve into tears and gasps. (Again? Really?) Apparently the next song was Dial-a-Cliché. I have no recollection of this whatsoever, even though I have never heard it live before.

When the show ends I collapse into a nearby seat in disbelief at the ninety minutes I have just experienced. A young woman asks my name. I’ve no idea who she was or why she asked. Eventually more familiar people appear and I try to make sense through the fog.

Instead of doing my usual post-show disappearing act, I hang around to join my new friend and five others for drinks in a nearby bar. Of the seven, three of us had managed to get on the stage tonight, and all of us agree that it was a great show, even better than the previous night, so spirits are high all round, and we sit happily nibbling tortilla chips, sipping drinks, and talking about….Morrissey. I am on top of the world. A lady from Brazil expresses astonishment that I am not travelling on to the next show in Montreal, which of course I wish I was. I explain to her that I have a family and a job that I must return to, but hope to see them all again, somewhere in the not too distant future, hopefully on my own side of the Atlantic.

When I eventually return to my little room, I immediately find good footage of my special moment already on YouTube, and I spend far too long buzzing around on social media, eventually managing a few hours sleep, before waking ridiculously early for more of the same. This, however, has the happy result of enabling me to sleep for the majority of my return flight the following night.

Toronto Toronto Toronto. All those inner voices telling me I shouldn’t fly all the way to you, just for a weekend, just to see Morrissey. Just?! Just one of the most happy, memorable, exciting, emotional and incredible weekends I will ever spend.

If you really want to do something, and you are fortunate enough to be able to do it, then do it. Life is very long. Punctuate it with joy wherever and whenever you have the opportunity. Don’t wait for there to be a bluer sky and a better hour.