Make Love, Not War

I managed to avoid getting into a fight at Saturday's Kings of Leon concert at the Aberdeen Exhibition and Conference Centre.

Is that a strange way to start a post? Probably. Perhaps some explanation is required.

Having spent the whole day in Aberdeen, Mrs Wife and I decided that, instead of aimlessly roaming the granite city's streets, we'd head up to the venue early and venture inside as soon as the doors opened.

As we were amongst the first in, we pretty much had our pick of places to stand, and chose a spot immediately in front of the mixing desk. This meant that later, when the venue was stowed out, we couldn't be pushed forwards by any surging in the crowd. (That makes me sound really old and boring. The previous two occasions I've been to the AECC for gigs - Oasis in 1997 and Ocean Colour Scene in 1998 - I was right at the front being crushed against the barriers.)

Anyway, we stood in front of the mixing desk throughout opening act Manchester Orchestra's set (anyone from Jawjah want to explain why a rock band from Atlanta is called Manchester Orchestra?) and were happy to stand there for the Kings of Leon's set.

Until an idiot with rubbish faux-indie hair decided that standing right in front of Mrs Wife would be a good idea.

Don't get me wrong - I expect to have people standing in front of me at a gig, especially if I choose to stand at the back of the hall. But this twat wasn't just standing in front of Mrs Wife, he was practically standing on top of her, and kept on leaning into her, pushing her backwards against the railing.

So Mrs Wife and I reached a simple conclusion - we'd swap places. Hairboy then goes from leaning against a slim 5'6" woman to leaning against a broad-shouldered, marginally overweight 6'1" man clad in a heavy leather jacket.

Far be it from me to suggest how other people should behave, but I would suggest that if a couple standing behind you has just adjusted their standing arrangements so that your ass is now touching the tall bloke behind you, you should take that as a hint to take a step forwards and watch the show.

But no, fannybaws continues to lean backwards. So he is given a small shove forwards by means of suggesting a more suitable vantage point. He responds by telling yours truly to fuck off. But he does so from a position where he is no longer touching me. This is fine.

Two more songs go by, and neepheid seems to have forgotten our little exchange. He again leans into me, forcing me against the barrier. He gets a second shove in the back, this time with a little more force.

It is at this point, when I am being told to fuck off for the second time in the space of 10 minutes, that it crosses my mind that this altercation may not end here. And hey, I'm a lover, not a fighter.

But, as these thoughts are crossing my mind, it becomes apparent that fannybaws' mate has realised that it's not just me and Mrs Wife he has to deal with - we're accompanied by another guy in the six-foot-plus bracket and his own Mrs Wife.

And, having taken stock of the situation, they scarper.

So, I managed to avoid getting into a fight on Saturday. Kings of Leon were rather good, although we were treated to Caleb Followill partially spitting the dummy when his guitar refused to work properly during the encore. For a moment, I feared for the roadie's safety, and thought that my peacemaking services might be required onstage.

Maybe I should start my own business as a diffuser of potentially violent indie situations.