By Laura Hutchinson
I HAVE a confession to make: I went to see Britney Spears in the Point last week. (Yes, the Point; I refuse to call it the O2.) In my defence, I bought the ticket in a moment of madness, thinking it would be a good night out. Sadly, I was suffering from the dreaded “sure why not” syndrome. Why not indeed. Had I known that Britney’s visit would be so abhorred by the weather gods that they’d throw down a fierce flood in a bid to ban the aging popstar, I’d have kept my €77 safely in my back pocket and saved it to spend on more worthy things. Like sweets.
The amount I’d spent on the ticket was pretty much the only reason I decided to brave the elements that night. Having been lounging indoors all day, I had quite underestimated the severity of the storm, and was all ready to venture out coatless in a short-sleeved shirt. Two steps outside the door highlighted a few flaws in my plan.
Scurrying back indoors, I naively thought I could just phone for a taxi and everything would be OK. My dreams were soon dashed when the only taxi firm I could get through to were going to take at least 45 minutes to get to me. There was nothing for it but to get the bus. The only problem? The foot of water between me and the bus stop. Converse trainers were not going to cut it, so I changed into a pair of boots, threw on a few extra layers of clothing, and dove out the door into the black night.
Turned out, the boots wouldn’t cut it either. (That’s what I get for buying them in Dunnes.)But it was a “now or never” situation, and I had to plough on. When the bus finally arrived, shining like a beacon through the darkness, I thought salvation was at hand. Alas, no, because even the bus was flooded! Rainwater sloshed up and down the aisle as I made my way to an empty seat. I sat down, planning to pull my knees up under my chin to save my poor feet another soaking, but it was my backside that got the soaking. The seat was drenched, and I had to abandon it in favour of standing in a puddle.
I tried to take comfort in the fact that I could hop off the bus in town and straight onto a nearby Luas, which would take me right up to the Point. I thought I’d be home and dry, as they say. Then, “beep beep” – text message from a friend to say the Luas wasn’t running. Oh joy. With no Luas and no available taxis, I was now going to have to walk the two-and-a-half kilometres from O’Connell Street to the Point.
At this stage, most normal people would be wondering what else could go wrong. Me? Well, I’m used to being terribly unlucky, and was fully expecting to trudge all the way up to the Point, only to discover that the concert was cancelled and I’d have to turn back and make the long journey home again. Luckily, Britney had managed to outwit the weather gods, and the concert started on schedule. It ran for an hour-and-a-half, during which time the cold set into my bones and I could feel all my muscles and joints start to stiffen.
But there I was, in front of the princess of pop, listening to a rundown of her career hits, while a bunch of world-class dancers busted moves around her. The sound quality was great, the crowd were electric and, most importantly, it was warm and dry. So was it worth it? Was it worth the hour-and-a-half journey to get there, through puddles and muck, with the wind in my eyes and my hair plastered to my face?
I can honestly say, hand on heart, that, all things considered... I should’ve stayed on the sofa.