Paul Weller...it's all about him not you

Saturday night at Westonbirt Arboretum near Tetbury was the venue for my second Paul Weller gig this year, an open air concert in conjunction with the Forestry Commission. Westonbirt was riding high on the success of the previous night when McFly took the stage but not a sell out so it was no surprise to me when the traffic marshalls and gate staff were unprepared for the 7,000 who swarmed on down from the fields now hastily turned over to car parks.

We are old hands at Weller gigs be it small theatres or big outdoor arenas and once the car park picnic of ham, pork pies, potato and onion tortilla with a dessert of homegrown strawberries were demolished washed down with Portuguese rose we entered the arena and got ourselves into a good spot.

A 'good spot' for a five foot ten bloke with a girlfriend considerably shorter than that is not behind tall people. So finding an ideal location can be tricky, about seven bodies back from the front is just about perfect, any closer and you'll be in that 'mosh-pit' nonsense where total strangers push, pull and fling each other around like they've been mates since nursery school.
The moshing area is also not ideal for someone who is still recovering from a ruptured achilles tendon, so mid-stage seven bodies back is good for me.

The excitement builds, the support band do their set and pretty good too they were too. Twisted Wheel three lads from Oldham, look out for them, the raw energy of their obvious Clash and Jam inspired music will be hitting out nationwide after this summers gigs, they play Glastonbury this Sunday on the John Peel stage. If you watch the festival highlights on telly Twisted Wheel should feature on there.

Support act finished now and we're still there just about seven bodies from the front awaiting the Modfather, more tension builds, pissed people are having to go to the toilets making space but more people arrive in our 'seven bodies from the front' exclusion zone. Oh no, no no no no you can't stand there mate, you're eight feet tall and got a rucksack on your back, go on get off out of it. Bugger, we now have to make a tactical move to the left, but hold on yes, nice one the group of blokes next to us need more beer, one is despatched to the bars and we slide along unnoticed and the freak of nature is no longer in the eyeline.

Suddenly Weller is on, the man we've come to see and hear and what a fantastic view, no giants in my line of sight and away we go, Peacock Suit, Changin' Man but hang on..what's occured here then? lots of upper class voices and blonde hair pile into my space, my area, my jurisdiction that I've been guarding faithfully for two hours. I know I know, it's a gig, it's a free country and people have paid their money but I'm now suffering this young female idiot screaming 'woooooo Wellerrrrr wooooooooooo' holding her camera phone in the air constantly while the other hand clutches a pint of white wine.

My upper limbs start to act of their accord, and every time the over-priviledged Barbie bangs into me my elbow goes into her ribs. I'm not giving an inch of ground to the young bitch no way. I saw The Jam before she was even conceived and been a fan of Paul Wellers' music long before she was even at her boarding school. But then........then she lights up a cigarette and we become wreathed in her vile smoke. In these days of non smoking workplaces and public buildings we've all become so more aware of cigarette smoke around us, in a word to a non-smoker it's 'intolerable' and my girlfriend asked her politely to please put it out. Barbies response was mono-syllabic.........'NO'.

An uneasy stand-off then ensued and the girl who thought the whole evening was all about her suddenly got a huge surprise, Weller launched into 'From The Floorboards Up' and immediately a surge came from behind us. Just like the random surges you used to get at football before the days of all seater stadia and the European Runners-Up League. But this was no random surge, this was die-hard Paul Weller fans who wanted to get to the front, right in among those mosh-heads and dance and leap around like a demented gazebo, I stepped to the side and grabbed my girl while these three blokes with linked arms and drunken grins on their faces flew past us taking everyone in front of them including the phone clutching, wine drinking, fag smoking spoilt brat into the 'Pit of Mosh'.

Well now, this was great, now we all had loads of room, no elbowing and a clear view of the stage with all the chaos going on in front of us which had just gone completely mental with bodies flying back and forth arms flailing as 'Eton Rifles' blasted out and a few thousand forty-somethings sang out 'hello hooray, what a nice day' then the mosh area soothed a bit as Weller calmed it down with 'Sea Spray' and what do we see staggering out of the mass of bodies? yes indeed, Barbie, not screeching 'wooooo' anymore but looking somewhat dishevelled no longer clutching her wine glass and mobile phone but forlornly making her way out of the mass of people and indeed right out of the gig still desperately flicking her hair as if nothing had happened while looking to all the world like she's just about to burst into tears. Ironically.....there's a price to pay for the Eton Rifles.

What goes around comes around, treat others as you would like to be treated and we'll get along great but if you behave in life as though you are the only person in the world who matters then somewhere along the way you'll take a fall.