It was worth the wait. Feet aching, legs throbbing, pressed into strangers like too many sardines in an already packed can (a sell-out), we all moaned and shuffled and tapped our feet impatiently. But then they were THERE. The Thrills. I was three metres away from the lead singer. His chest hair peered over the neckline of his white T-shirt, forearms poked from his misfitted black jacket. Deep set eyes under dark, crazy eyebrows, and he carried with him a purple towel. He sweated a lot, and did this thing with his shoulder, jerked it rhythmically in time to the music, that made me want to dance.

The drunk girl in front of me waved her arms ecstatically, crashed into the man infront of me who crashed in turn into me and my friend. She pressed thumbs and forefingers together to make a heart, closed her eyes and swayed embarrassingly.

They played Whatever Happened to Corey Haim right at the end, and everyone went crazy. So put on that dress tonight, you see, we just can't stop it.