The 2022 UK tour rumbles happily on. Following the Killarney and Blackpool shows, I drive to Doncaster, where I am caught out by the smaller venue size, arrive far too late, and end up a shocking 3-4 rows from the front, where I spend the show peering at Morrissey between giant heads, and phones held aloft, whilst wedged between sweaty bodies. Accordingly, I up my game and arrive earlier for the Manchester show, where I befriend a fun, young lady from Israel, then take a coach to Birmingham where I almost miss out on my second row spot by showing the wrong ticket at doors.
A couple of days later I am being driven up the A1(M) to Stockton in my usual state of pre-show anxiety, feeling a little frazzled by how difficult it is proving to secure just second row, something that seemed relatively easy at the large arenas of the 2018 tour.
A traffic accident enroute causes a good half hour delay, and I have visions of giant queues building all the while. We arrive in the centre of Stockton, and drive round in circles, with Google Maps sending us down restricted routes, before I demand my husband stops the car, and I hop out and trot briskly towards the venue, not wanting to lose any more valuable minutes.
Catching my first sight of the venue, I am much relieved to see there is no giant queue, just a few people who have chosen one of four different barriered routes to the four different doors. I consider for a moment, feeling like I have been presented with a multiple-choice question, and with no knowledge of the answer, simply choose to go with the majority consensus, and I join them with some uncertainty. My German friend strolls past and informs me, over the barrier, that she is one of about 20 people on The List who either camped out or arrived early this morning. They have been given wristbands and told to return at 5.30pm. My goal, as usual, is to be one of the first to enter after these 20.
Situation assessed thus far, I begin to instigate conversation with the three people already queuing. They consist of a cheerful, friendly young lady who has been here for some hours already, and says she stood behind me during the show in Manchester a few nights ago. I have no recollection of her. The other two are a couple who I soon recognise, having first met them in Aberdeen in 2018. The four of us pass the couple of hours with plenty of chatter, nerves building as the time for doors approaches. Other queues have now formed at the other doors, which we assume will open at the same time as ours, once the 20 people with wristbands have entered.
Anticipating the usual race, and raring to go, we watch them filing in through the door next to ours, making note of the direction they take once inside. When the last of them is through the door, one of my friends immediately follows behind, before it can be closed, and more significantly, before the other doors have been opened. “Excuse me”, we hear from one of the venue staff, and we are resigned to the inevitable instruction to wait. And yet… it seems she was talking to someone else, he is allowed to continue, and heart pounding, I swiftly step forward follow. Things are looking very promising indeed, as I eagerly hold my arm out for my wristband, somewhat in disbelief. Ticket scanned, I now rush to the right, as observed, and down some stairs as expected. My friend before me has of course already vanished, and the 20 list members are long gone, and it is a strange feeling to find myself running down the stairs entirely alone, and arriving in a small, empty bar, like an intruder who has broken into the venue in the middle of the night. This coupled with the sense of urgency, as if a clock is ticking and I have a set number of seconds in which to complete my mission. The sound of the familiar intro music beckons me on through an open door, and there is the stage below me at the bottom of the sloping auditorium floor. As expected, the barrier appears already populated, but I now see my friend at the far right end of it, waving and beckoning to me with full arm gestures, and I run diagonally down to him. His partner soon appears in the same doorway, and we wave her over too, and now giggle like excited children, delighted to find we have snagged the last few remaining barrier spots, at least those I consider worth having, in that they are actually opposite the stage, rather than the wall of speakers at either side.
Mission accomplished! But apparently not quite yet. Before we have had time to catch our breath, my friend asks me to hold his spot, and vanishes. I am somewhat perturbed, feeling less than confident in my abilities to reserve a barrier spot at this early stage, with people still rushing in and positioning themselves. However, it proves surprisingly easy, since there is already a row of people immediately behind us, and at length he reappears, looking even more pleased with himself, and proudly showing off a signed copy of The Queen is Dead vinyl album, one of a very limited number available for purchase from the merchandise stand.
Having taken some photos of his prize, he then asks me if I’d like a drink from the bar, and disappears for a second time! Clinging to my barrier spot like a dog with a bone, I envy his ability to be to be quite so casual with his own, but he soon returns, and I am handed a drink, a luxury I am not often afforded whilst waiting for a show to commence.
My friend manages a handshake early on in the show, by somehow reaching over the barrier and making himself very long, at just the right moment, a trick I have yet to perfect.
The audience enthusiasm reaches a climax during the encore, and I enjoy my view along the length of the barrier, as crowd surfers and barrier jumpers tumble into the space between it and the stage, and I am cheering them on as they grapple with security, and love witnessing their passion and delight when having achieved their goal. This is a spectacle only to be witnessed at Morrissey shows.
Morrissey tosses his shirt into the crowd and disappears once again, until next time, just two days hence. The shirt lands near the centre barrier area and we wait patiently for the lights to come up and the usual scuffle to subside. As the crowd eventually thins, my husband appears, and proudly presents me with a sizeable piece of pale blue fabric! I am astonished, knowing that since he always arrives well after doors have opened, he would not have been near enough to the front to have been in the midst of the shirt fight. He informs me that a man had emerged from the scrum, cutting a large piece of shirt up into smaller pieces with a penknife, and he was simply able to avail himself of one of these pieces.
I make a half-hearted offer to share the piece with my barrier friends, but they seem content without. Instead, I carefully package and send half of it to a friend in Italy, who has been unable to attend any shows for some time, but sadly, it never arrives.
Adventures of a middle-aged Morrissey fan 