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People constantly astound me. And not in a good way. It’s partly why I don’t go out much. I just can’t understand why people would pay money to see someone as amazing as Feist, and spend half the time saying loudly “Ohhh she’s so cute!”, “Oh I love her” and other variations, and the other half of the time talking through the concert (you know the kind of conversations – those banal ones that people have loudly on mobile phones when travelling by public transport).

I realised quite early on that these two girls were not sober. They sang loudly and out of tune to every song they recognised. They lurched around and announced loudly they were going out to the toilet a couple of times. They broadcast to everyone around them that they were sharing a drink. They shouted stupid things out to the stage. But by the time they had carried on through half of ‘Gatekeeper’, a rather quiet and beautiful song, I turned around and said “Could you please stop talking?”

The brunette burst out laughing and the blonde one stared at me with her mouth open as though I had just slapped her. “I’m sorry?!” she said indignantly.

“I can’t hear the song because you’re talking,” I retorted, and turned back to the stage, feeling the back of my neck bristling and feeling that hot, thick feeling in my throat I get when I get into a conflict situation. They ridiculed me and carried on, and then sang purposefully like a couple of soccer hooligans. They would start talking again and then the blonde would say “SSHHHHH remember, we’re not allowed to talk!”

(As Emma said afterwards, “You should have said, ‘Yes, but you’re allowed to grow up. Feel free, anytime.'”)

Eventually they did quieten down, but I kept expecting them to do something malicious like set my hair on fire (I later realised I was lucky to escape unscathed – I still can’t quite believe how awful this story is). Thankfully that was the end of it, but it very nearly ruined the night for me. It certainly put a nasty streak through it.

People can be just horrible. Especially drunken girls.

(As we left the Metro the stupidity and self-centeredness of drunken girls (well some of them are like that sober too) was epitomised by the extremely inebriated girl in stilettos making strange, darting actions at the traffic surging down George St. As we passed, she screeched angrily at the cars, “I’m trying to cross the road!!!”)