“Do you want to see Queen and Adam Lambert at the O2?” asked The Husband.
No. No, I did not want to see Queen and Adam I’m Not Freddie Lambert at the O2. That would mean risking my life for a band I like-ish so no, thank you but no.
“Yeah sure” said I.
Since the birth of our children there has been very little The Husband and I have done just the two of us, we’re either with the children or one of us is oot and aboot whilst the other is with the children so, when he asks if I want to do something kid-less, I feel obliged to say yes even when every cell in my body screams FUCK NO.
Thing is, I like spending time with The Husband, honest, it’s just that I knew we would die in a terror attack at the O2 if we went to see Queen and Adam Blooming Lambert. It was months away so I just shoved the thought to the back of my mind along with all the other shit that scares me, there was a little room in a dark corner just past where I keep my fear of cancer.
At some point I made a joke about our impending doom.
“You don’t have to come, I’ll take someone else if you’re that worried”
He would have too and not thought less of me for it but no, The Husband had asked me, I could do this.
Fast forward to the day we were off to see Queen and Adam Sodding Lambert.
Most of the day was spent wondering how I could wriggle out of going but, before I could think of anything remotely believable, we were in the car heading to London.
Traffic. There was lots and lots of lovely traffic and we were stuck in it. We hadn’t moved in an hour, we would have to abandon ship. Yay!
“I think I’m going to leave the motorway . . . . ” The Husband pondered.
Do what you like mate, we’ve missed it, may as well turn for home. Whoopedy do da day.
“Yeah sure” said I.
I forgot that Mr Satnav used to drive all over the country in a previous life and that he knew exactly what he was doing and where he was going. Bugger. We hit London at what felt like warp speed, weaving in and out of traffic and taking sudden detours when it looked as though we were about to get stuck. I was beginning to lose it, the panic had set in. We weren’t travelling at warp speed at all but my heart was and I was struggling to breathe by the time we got to the car park of the O2. Oddly we’d managed to get parked quite close to where I was about to meet my end, which was convenient as now I had lost the use of my legs.
“Slow down, I need a wee”
It wasn’t a complete lie, I did need a wee, but my, far more pressing, problem was the full blown panic attack I was in mid flow of. The Husband, not wanting to miss any more of Queen and Adam Fucking Fuckwit Lambert than was absolutely necessary, had decided to run.
We hit security. Security which is there to keep a person safe but just reminded me of the Manchester Arena bombing. Shit. I could drop to the floor and play dead. This would be my last chance to escape the nightmare. I did neither, drop nor escape.
In we went. Still running we found the wee wee facilities then the door that would take us to our seats. We paused to double check we were where we should be. I took a deep breath, the first in a while, and the doors opened.
The crowd cheered, it was all I could do not to take a bow. We’d entered at the end of a song so the cheers weren’t for us, I don’t think, but the sensation of walking onto the O2 to that level of happiness will stay with me right up until the day I forget all about it. The heat, the lights, the volume knocked the panic and fear of everything right out of me. I loved it. I loved Queen. As for Adam Oh My Word He’s A Delight Lambert, boy can he belt out a tune.
So I am now a Queen fan, who knew?
We were buzzing for days, we even thought about getting tickets to see them again that very weekend but we’d already had to sell a kidney each for the first pair of tickets so decided against it as the kids needed feeding and a roof over their heads or something equally dull.
So, am I now cured of my fear of everything? No. I doubt that day will ever come but I did learn one hefty life lesson, never ever ever sing in public. When I played back some of the videos I discovered that I have the voice of an angel being wrung out like a wet dishcloth. I’d posted them to Facebook too! Delete. Delete.