So I would fail at being a professional groupie for the following reason:

On Thursday I went to Brixton Academy to see Miike Snow. Of course gig was long since sold out by the time my level of coolness had made me aware of thier arrival = touts.

At 6.30 they’re being a bit cocky with their pricing so we go say hello to a friend who lives next to the academy, pizza: tick, wine: tick. Our friend mentions that the tour buses often park outside her window, mockingly: “they could all be standing there right now girls!” So I strain my next round to see the lead singer of the band standing there talking to a roadie. I scream a little. Heart is racing. Do not shit yourself and yell Mike – his name’s not Mike. This is the perfect opportunity to use charm and wit (and mouth?) to wangle us backstage. But instead I open the window and wave. He looks up, and goes in to the venue. Bugger. Strap a pair on Emily.

I have another glass of wine.

Out comes keyboard / knob twiddler / electro genius guy (not a music expert). We shout down hello and good luck and have fun and we’re really looking forward to the concert. Bugs then goes one better and says “we couldn’t get tickets and its sold out and we’re really hoping we’ll get in” (as a question) to which he very kindly laughs back, “I’ll see what I can do”.

Amazing – we know the band, this is where life on tour begins, they’re Swedish and no one parties like the Scandis… boom. Obviously he never returned, but there was always trying our luck, but as we get out of our friends flat, right for backstage or left for the battle with touts, talk turns to potential lockjaw, how good would the catering actually be back there, would it ever be as good if you’re not in the crowd, and essentially we chickened out like massive pussies.

turns out we got a great deal on tickets, went straight for beers, decided to find ourselves a spot only to walk breezily to the front row at 9.15. The beauty of a gig like that is that people aren’t fussed by where they are, they just need room to throw spectacular shapes. Then ensued the perfect set list, for the perfect crowd and my face hurt from smiling. If ever i was in a bit of a rut, this gig flipped me out of it.

I cannot see how you could have beaten that feeling of being in that crows of smiling people. Who would you jump around with if you were on the side of the stage? Knowing my clumsiness I’d have kicked out a plug. And we never would have met the girl dressed in pink rabbit ears, who turned round and asked for a hug and told us she was Silvia from the song… (the Silvia? really?) Afterwards she scrambled past a steward to get the print out of a set list. Well she might not get lockjaw…

I am not cool enough for backstage, and that suits me fine. Never will be an expert groupie.