I’m not going to into where I’ve been since my last posted dated October 2012. Best not to, you probably don’t care anyway (and by ‘you’ I mean the three people who still occasionally pop by TWYL in the hope of a new post).
I went to see Beyonce. Twice. And I NEED to go on about in painful detail. That’s right, painful detail. If you’re not into that sort of thing, scarper right now.
I got more texts that Friday than I will on the day of my wedding. ‘Good luck this weekend, hope she’s amazing!’ and ‘Try not to get snots on her from all the ugly crying you’ll be doing…’ are just two examples.
She was playing Saturday and Sunday – of course it goes without saying that I had to be present at both dates. Like the crazy person I am (and here, listen. While I’m mentioning the crazy – I’m fully aware how bonkers I sound but you should be aware that I do not care. Not a tap).
Saturday I was brought to the concert by COTY, Beyonce’s fragrance company. They tried (very hard I might add) to get some kind of meet and greet situation going but they couldn’t. Obvs. BECAUSE SHE’S THE BIGGEST STAR IN THE UNIVERSE. The whole concert was spent SCREAMING the lyrics to every song, almost deafening the lovely pregnant lady I was sitting beside (she had to move – I didn’t take offence) and fanning myself both to get additional oxygen to my brain and also to curtail the Beyonce Sweats – like meat sweats except you don’t ingest anything but glorious music and note perfect performances.
After the concert, I was going to go out but I was so emotionally exhausted I could imagine doing nothing except lying down. So home I went to mentally and physically prepare for the day that lay ahead. BEYONCE SUNDAY.
Sunday was when sh*t got real. I collected Andrea (my Beyonce lovin’ buddy) early and we ate a quick lunch before heading to queue at the O2 with the other hardcore Beyhivers (note: The Beyhive – the place over zealous fans of Queen Bey go to express themselves without fear of intense judgement, a place I frequent).
We stood for three hours just to get into the venue – standing with no food (except a bag of Skittles I had clandestinely concealed in my raincoat pocket), no water and no toilet breaks was hard going. But we befriended a lovely Leaving Cert student named Laura who kept us entertained with her tales of gig attendance optimisation. As not-very-regular concert attendees (I’m an ‘I’d rather watch the DVD and wear fluffy socks than actually GO’ kinda gal) we didn’t know that the O2 Angels let you skip the queue if you’re an O2 customer – that fact didn’t help us in the end but it was nice to know.
When we eventually got into the place we BEAT our way over to the barrier (I had scoped out the night before the ideal place to stand for some face time with Mrs Carter) and there we stood, trying to hold our positions, for three further hours. We withstood:
- About 7,000 other people who were all eyeing up our privileged position at the barrier.
- A particularly nasty Spanish couple who were mercilessly embedding their elbows in our backs.
- No water or toilet dashes since 2pm that day.
- A severe lack of fresh oxygen.
- Foot cramps, back aches and lightheadedness brought on by standing statue like for hours.
All of this we did in the hope that when Beyonce took to the stage, we’d have a better time than everyone else behind us because we were closer to her magic than they were.
And we were right!
It was magical, an almost out-of-body experience that only other people who’ve stood next to their idol while she sang live can understand. Anyone rolling their eyes or being judgey right now, remember at the start when I told you I don’t care? That sentiment remains.
I bought a program, a t-shirt – extortionate prices, but I didn’t care – and fully immersed myself in Beyonce world for the weekend and I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed anything more. Except maybe the billion other times I’ve seen her live…
A small selection of the 1,500,000 pictures and videos I took at the concerts…
YES THAT’S HOW CLOSE SHE WAS TO ME
YES THAT’S HOW AMAZING SHE LOOKED