The prospect of being cooped up in a room full of 20,000 screaming 11 yr old girls had been looming large on my horizon for several months as the days clicked past towards No1 daughters birthday treat.
And come last night the waiting was over, so with a car-full of barely contained excitement, I led the way to the O2 for the joys of Girls Aloud.
My tactic of 'heading in the general direction of the Canary Wharf Tower' and finding it from there nearly proved disastrous as the signage to the arena was virtually non existent when coming in from the East. It wasn't until one of the kids pointed out the small brown crown on the road signs wasnt actually directions to the Tower of London "Its a bloody crown I tell you!" but was instead a little brown dome that we found our way into the huge expanse of tarmac that is the O2 car park
"Have you booked online or on the telephone?" asked the car park attendant.
"Well I reserved online but had to pay over the phone as the security number on my credit card has rubbed off because it lives in my back pocket"
"So is it online, or on the telephone"
"Both"
"But I need to find you on my list"
"No you don't. I give you this receipt you sent me when I paid and you let me in to the car park."
"I can't let you in unless you're on my list"
"But I have a receipt"
"Is it an online receipt or a telephone receipt"
The range of responses from within the car varied from "Ask to talk to the supervisor" from Mrs Wife to "Just buy another ticket Dad" from No1 daughter who is a recent graduate of the Royal Horticultural School of Money Propogation.
Outside, the chap in the Range Rover behind us had begun to chew on his steering-wheel whilst the dog in his passenger seat slobbered away excitedly as though his owner had just said, "see that bloke in the blue rugby shirt over there.....". Why anyone would bring a dog to a pop concert I have no idea although after the first support act had left the stage I began to wonder if it was infact an understudy in case of late attacks of laryngitis.
By now highly irritated, I got out of the car to try and talk some sense into the barrier operative and watched the slump of a thousand shoulders in the queue behind me at the grim realisation that the bloke at the entrance barrier has now been forced out of his car. Several miles away a horn tooted but was wafted off towards the Greenwich eyot by the early evening breeze.
I looked down at the list on his clipboard
"Thats me there" I said as I took his pen and crossed my name off the list.
"All that fuss" I said to the rest of the car as we went through the barrier to find a place to park
"What was the problem" said Mrs Wife
"No idea - but keep your fingers crossed the guy in the Range Rover isnt a Mr Simpson or one of us is going to be a Ridgebacks supper in a few minutes"
Parked up, we unloaded the picnic and made our way towards the Thames footpath where we had been told there was a pleasant picnic area, well away from hungry pedigree hunting dogs
"Joanna went to American Bar and Grill when she came here" piped up one of No1 daughters less appreciative friends (the same one who had said "Eeeuegh its disguuuuuuusssting in here" on getting into our car. Ok so maybe I should have mucked it out before we left but I was winning an egg fight at the rugby club at their end of season BBQ so had other priorities)
"Oh well, you'll have to make do with a picnic. Have you ever seen the Thames Barrier before...?"
We found a perfectly nice spot by the river and gorged on the finest Mr Marks and Mrs Spencer could muster
"Eeeuegh I haaaaaatte chicken" and before our charming attendee became another Thames drowning statistic we scoffed, packed up and headed into the arena.
We had barely stepped through the secutiry checks when I got the first of many digs in the ribs from Mrs Wife.
"Well if she doesn't want people to look at her she shouldn't go out dressed like a porn star"
"Its the fashion these days" said No1 son who I thought was out of earshot.
"I beg you pardon?"
"Its the fashion. Everyone knows that. Did you know a porn shops opening by the station soon?"
Suddenly I felt very very old and frankly quite depressed that this is the subject of 11 yr olds conversations these days
Still, at least I now know he's not gay, after he pointed out with a big grin on his face that you could see one girls pants her skirt was so short. I didn't give away I had already spotted her but let him think she was his catch. What a great Dad I am!
And so, with a pocket full of cotton wool balls, we took our seats
First up was "Girls Can't Catch" although I couldn't help wondering what a cruel twist of fate had led to the the last bit of their name (....a tune even if it whacked them in the face) being deleted from the promo literature.
"Girls can't sing", as keenly observed by No1 son, would have been more appropriate.
At one point in their particularly nasty set, a leap from our seats on the top tier of the O2, seemed the only way to escape the wailing banshees on stage.
But that would have spoiled the evening for No1 daughter and friends on her birthday treat, not to mention the several dozen people 150ft below who would have broken my fall.
So I did the honourable thing, kept my counsel, plugged my ears with cotton wool and waited for, in the words of No1 daughter, Cheryl, the fat one, the blonde one, the skinny one and the really really white one.
After being spared any further aural torture from the girls who couldn't sing we awaited the appearance of the main act (more girls who couldnt sing...as I'd told anyone who cared to listen for the past few weeks) as the pre-pubescent screaming built to a wall-paper tearing crescendo
In a dazzle of fireworks they appeared through a fog of dry ice and a really strange thing began to happen.
They started to perform.....and they were actually bloody good.
I know they are only 5 girls singing and the real talent lies in the songwriting, the choreography, the lighting etc etc but no-one ever held that against the Supremes.
And for the next 2 hours we were treated to one of the slickest, most upbeat, catchiest shows I'd seen in years.
I am now officially a fan of the really really white one because she seemed to have the biggest stage presence of them all - and anyway, I always have a soft spot for the underdog, if you pardon the expression
No1 daughter & friends danced and cheered and clapped and generally beamed solidly for nearly 2 hours and No1 son saw Cashley Cole sitting in the box just below us which made his night and by the end even his surly "god this is so embarrasing" pose had turned into full-on arm waving and dancing in strict accordance with the instructions emanating from the stage.
To cap it all we went from seat to front door in less than 50 minutes (god if there's one thing I really can't bear its queuing to get OUT of somewhere!).
All in all, despite the car park debacle, a huge success
And if I could be bothered to consider nominees for the title of Greatest Girl Band of all time, I think we might just have seen them last night.
