I’ve got a confession to make… (or how I spent the night with an amazing man)

Last night, I spent the night with Dave Grohl from the Foo Fighters.

So did a few thousand others, but that’s a minor detail. It was one of the best gigs I have ever been to (and I’ve been to a few over the years).

I can honestly say that Dave gave 110% and then some. His performance was energetic, cheeky, personal and intimate. He gave the audience exactly what they wanted: himself. The ladies adored him and the men wanted to be him. He owned that stage. At one point, I said to my friends: “He looks like Jesus.” And he did; with his beard and long hair, he looked most holy.

But I must say: I’m getting too old to be in the mosh pit. I had forgotten how rude and inconsiderate people could be at gigs. They care only about themselves and their sense of entitlement (I’ve spent $125 on my ticket, so as long as I can see, I don’t give a toss about you, lady. Screw you!). It was probably made worse by the general calibre of person who was attracted to Foo Fighters (as my daughter politely pointed out: bogans and ferals. There were a lot of people there who could do with seeing a dentist, and that is never a good sign at any gig).

And yes, Dave might drop the odd F-bomb here and there, but he has manners. He thanked people for being there, for coming along and supporting the band for 16 years. For a man who is the spitting image of Jesus, he was gracious and humble in his thanks (as you would expect). Ferals and bogans, take note!

So I now worship in the Church of Grohl. I am a convert. I bow at the feet of an amazing man. What’s more, Dave Grohl is now the benchmark against which all potential future husbands shall be measured. The only question is: how on earth am I ever going to find anyone like THAT?

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