Emmaprovement Continues...

Music has never been my thing - I own six CDs: two of them are George Michael's Greatest Hits, two are an Eighties Ballad compilation an old boyfriend bought me as a joke, and one - which will remain nameless - I stole from my Dad.

I could just never really get on board with that mob-mentality, coolest new band and the seemingly idiotic dialogue surrounding popular music - so save from a lost weekend being a (platonic) Space Hog groupie, and half a UB40 show in 1992, I've, ah, never been to concert.

Nope, really, never. Or a festival. The idea revolts me. So, cue this column and Taryn suggesting: "hey, might be time you went to a gig". So I do some research. Bloc Party. Sounds good. Civilised crowd. No, seemingly it has to be "rougher", says Taryn.

Thankfully, my flatmate suggests the Camden Crawl - rugged enough for Taryn, close enough to home for a quick escape, and, ah, free tickets. Now, my flatmate LittleEmma has a double life. She spends her weeknights at fancy fashion parties and weekends at the scuzziest bars imaginable, reliving her Indie girl roots.

I'm a bit concerned about my outfit, but Emma tells me I have to wear a frock. "Rock boys like a lady," she explains. "Think Marianne Faithful, Patsy Kensit, Kate Moss." So I change into a dress, pile on eyeliner and mess up my hair. I look considerably more "walk of shame", than rock chic,
but hey, it works.

We arrive a bit early for the Jack Penate concert at the Electric Ballroom. Emma, who usually fancies a bottle of bubbly, leans over the bar, demanding two pints of Jack and Coke. "Not the small cups," she growls at the bartender. I've never seen this side of her before.

I'm thinking the best idea is to just hang back, enjoy the concert from, I don't know, the balcony, but Emma is insistent I need the full experience. She pushes us towards the front of the crowd. It's claustrophobic, though everyone does smells much better than they look. Look, there's Peaches Geldoff. She's young enough to be my daughter. I look around, So are 90% of
the people here.

Then the lights dim, and it's suddenly raining. Inside. WTF? "People throw their cups," Emma explains. I ask her if she wants to borrow one of my lighters for when we light them and sway with the crowd, like they do at concerts on TV. She start laughing. So, people don't do that? That looks like the best part!

Jack comes out on stage, the crowd surges towards the front and I have to hold my ground. I'm getting a little aggressive, elbowing the very skinny boys at my left. Oh shit. People are dancing. Everyone in the crowd, including Emma, is bouncing/swaying with the music. Shit. I'd better dance, too. Or I'll stand out.

But this doesn't really suit my usual style of dancing, which involves a lot of shaking my ass and looking over my shoulder. Not appropriate here. Shit. Just move your feet, Cheevers. Sway a bit. There you go. See, not so bad. Look, Jack Penate is totally checking you out. Probably because of your smooth dancing moves. I smile seductively at the stage.