All of them were clutching record sleeves, photographs, all of them were looking awed and excited, chattering among themselves in rather frantic American voices We were told that the people were American Cure fans from the mid-west, winners of some competition for which the prize was a trip to London, tickets for the Earl’s Court gig and a meeting beforehand with The Cure themselves. Apart from us, only the group stayed put. Someone who seemed to be in charge of the group admonished them from time to time, bossily but cheerfully. There was nothing to sit on, or lean against. It was so much beyond any human scale that the group waiting in the same space as us looked dwarfed, like as yet unconnected cogs in some industrial metropolis. We picked up our tickets, and were led out of the entrance area and through into a cavernous space, the wide but not very tall screens separating one section from another making it appear still higher, still vaster. But rock concerts, I suspected, come much louder.Ĭharlotte and I had been told to present ourselves an hour before the show was due to start. But then the only times I’d been there before was for the Royal Tournament – an entertainment now, thankfully, defunct – either as a child or, later, with a wargame-mad son.
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