Ah, yes, the joy of live entertainment. There’s nothing quite like it, is there? The anticipation of a nice evening out, a drink or two beforehand, maybe even a meal – doing your civic duty to support the local businesses and all that. And then you arrive at the venue, Leas Cliff Hall in this case – bless it, still standing after all these years. Sure, it’s looking a bit, shall we say, “well-loved” these days, with that charmingly “authentic” tired facade. But who cares? It’s still a veritable treasure trove of entertainment, offering something for everyone. A bit of nostalgia for the old, a bit of fun for the young, and plenty of good times for those in between. Lovely.
So last weekend, off we trotted to see a tribute to the legendary George Benson. Yes, I know, tribute acts can sometimes be a bit iffy – but rest assured, no shade here. The act was genuinely great. The star of the show and the band? Top-notch. We were all set for a nice Saturday night, and everything was going swimmingly. Until, of course, we encountered that very special breed of people – the ones who seem to think they’ve wandered into their own private lounge rather than a public concert hall. You know the ones.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not asking for miracles here. We did our bit. We arrived in plenty of time. We supported the local economy with a meal, and even had time for a cheeky drink at the bar before the show started. We’d even taken our seats before the ominous three-minute announcement was made, feeling smug in our punctuality. What could go wrong, right?
Wrong. Enter the dynamic duo. Five minutes into the performance, a couple suddenly appear in front of us. And do they sit down quickly and discreetly like normal people? Of course not. Why would they? No, no, they stood – yes, stood – in front of us, blocking our view of the stage, fiddling with their coats as if they’d just stepped off the Orient Express and weren’t sure where to store their luggage. There was coat removal, coat folding, coat placement on seats. All this while the rest of us were, you know, trying to enjoy the actual show.
But hey, it happens, right? Maybe they were running late. It’s forgivable. We’re all human. But oh, no. The man then realised he couldn’t get his wallet out of his pocket. Tragic. So what does he do? Still standing, mind you, he bellows over the music to his partner, “WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DRINK?” Because, obviously, if you’re going to shout, you should do it right in the middle of a song.
Off he toddles to the bar, and after what feels like an eternity, he returns – with drinks. And, of course, they can’t just sit down immediately like people who understand social etiquette. No, they have to stand there some more, distributing the drinks as if it’s some kind of delicate operation.
Then, for reasons known only to them, the man decides to pop back to the bar for crisps and peanuts. Because, really, what’s a live concert without some crisps and nuts? I ask you.
Finally, they settle in. Or do they? No, not quite. Because now it’s time for the next round of entertainment – mobile phones. Yes, why would anyone want to actually watch a live performance with their own eyes when they can experience the glory of it through a two-inch-wide screen? The man is furiously texting away, possibly something along the lines of “Great show, mate, shame I’m not actually watching it!” Meanwhile, the woman is filming the whole thing, because clearly, nothing says “I’m enjoying the moment” like living through your phone.
But just when you think the horror show might be over, the second half starts. And guess what? Their phone batteries must have been running low, because instead of videoing, they’ve decided to up the ante by talking loudly – yes, loudly – all the way through the performance. You know, in case the rest of us were at risk of enjoying ourselves. Brilliant.
And this isn’t just limited to concerts, by the way. Oh no, this disease has spread far and wide. I used to go to watch Arsenal regularly – note the use of the past tense – but my experiences there were ruined by similar individuals. You’d think people would want to watch the actual football, wouldn’t you? But no. The person next to me spent the entire match filming it on his phone, because obviously, Sky Sports’ multi-million-pound camera team just doesn’t cut it compared to one man with an iPhone.
It hit rock bottom when Arsenal actually scored – yes, miracles do happen occasionally – and I, like any normal person, reacted with joy. “What a goal!” I exclaimed. And what does the guy next to me say? “Oh, I didn’t see it. I was filming, and it was too quick.” I mean, come on. If you want to watch football on a screen, stay at home and watch the telly like a civilised human being. Don’t come to the stadium, stand in front of me with your phone out, and miss the very thing you’ve paid good money to see.
Honestly, what has happened to people? We’ve been blessed with the gift of eyes for a reason – to watch things, live, in the moment. Not through a screen. Not while texting. And definitely not while standing up in front of people who are actually trying to enjoy themselves.
In conclusion, next time you go to a live event, do everyone a favour – including yourself – and put the phone down, sit back, and enjoy the show. Or, failing that, at least try not to block anyone’s view while you’re pretending to.