Speechless at the Sting and Blondie Gig!

Eight months ago, She Who Books Things told me we were going to see Sting and Blondie on the same bill in June 2024. Happy days, I thought. My only worry was the weather. Outdoor gigs and Belfast aren’t a great combo. Call me soft, but four hours standing with the wind and rain slapping me up the face? No, thank you.

Turned out the weather was brilliant! Wall-to-wall sunshine all evening! Phew, I needn’t have worried!!

I needn’t have worried about that, at any rate.

But standing face-to-face with random strangers while holding my pecker in my hand? That would’ve worried me alright. That would’ve left me speechless.

Know what? It did.

Peeing Together

Here’s what I think. There’s only one acceptable way for a group of men to stand and pee together. That’s shoulder to shoulder. Usually staring at a blank wall, but not always. Blank walls are good, but so are nice hedges and rolling countryside if the peeing is al fresco. Blank walls are not the deal breaker here.

Shoulder to shoulder, on the other hand, is the hill I die on.

Those who say different are weirdos and should be shunned. I don’t care who it is. If it’s Sting or Debbie Harry, shun them too.

I don’t know if that’s what they are saying. I don’t imagine that rock legends personally arrange the male toilet area at their gigs. But at least they should take an interest. Or make sure someone sensible takes an interest.

Otherwise, the weirdos take over.

Big Arenas

This wasn’t our first gig of the summer. In May, we saw Springsteen at Croke Park Stadium in Dublin. In early June, we saw the Pet Shop Boys at the SSE Arena in Belfast.

Now, talk about the dodgy acoustics in big arenas all you like. I hear you.

Unless you’re talking inside one of them, in which case I mightn’t.

But big arenas don’t have bathroom issues. In big arenas, proper toilets come as standard.

Sting and Blondie played at the Belsonic Festival in Belfast’s Ormeau Park. It’s only a mile from where we live, so top marks from us for accessibility.

But Ormeau Park isn’t a big arena. It’s a great open-air venue that holds 20,000 people comfortably. Unless your idea of comfort includes a numbered seat, in which case you’re likely to be disappointed. It’s standing room only at Belsonic.

Some folks did sit down. We saw people sitting on picnic blankets way back in the outer reaches of the park. Honestly, they were closer to our house than the stage.

We could have hired out our front garden and covered the price of the tickets.

Sting and Blondie

A quick word on the two performers. At 71, Sting’s voice is as strong as ever. He’s also still in great shape. I could see the definition of his biceps from 100 yards away. And he’s kept his hair.

Bastard!

Debbie Harry, meanwhile, is almost 79. She mightn’t jump around the stage like she did 40 years ago, but she can still bust a few moves. Slow moves, mostly, but they still count. The crowd loved her.

Urinals

The sun was shining, so we had a couple of drinks beforehand. Just to get things going. One of those things being my bladder. Inevitably, I needed a trip to the pisser in between Blondie and Sting.

No, they didn’t flank me as I walked to the toilets. Don’t be silly.

I expected to find a big bank of portaloos in the toilet area. You know the ones. Wee huts with a door and a proper flushing toilet.

There were a few of those dotted about, but not many. Instead, most of the space was taken up by odd-looking portable urinals.

Here, I should post a photograph rather than trying to describe them. A picture is worth a thousand words, right? But snapping a urinal while men are using it isn’t wise. Think of the optics.

I’ve linked to a website at the bottom for those who want an image.

Plastic Contraptions

These urinals are big plastic contraptions that allow four men at a time to stand relieving themselves. One at each corner. Directly facing each other.

Now, I’m 64. My pee flow isn’t what it used to be. It takes me three times as long to empty my bladder as most younger men. When you’re standing shoulder to shoulder, that fact isn’t noticeable. And even if it is, who cares? Anonymity is baked into the traditional wall-facing stance.

When you’re taking a leak with another guy’s face just a foot or two away, things are different. You’re instantly recognisable if you happen to bump into your pee buddy later in the bar.

And in my case, there was more than one pee buddy. The face opposite kept changing as I dribbled the night away. I must’ve seen off at least four before I was ready for the shake.

Confidence shredded, my capacity to engage in the usual toilet banter was totally undermined. Not least because I was losing track of who I was talking to. Just when I’d formulated a response to some comment, the face in front of me would change.

I became monosyllabic as a result.

“Been to any other gigs at the Festival, mate?”

“No.”

“Shania Twain’s here next week. Are you going to that?”

“No.”

“Fantastic evening, though, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Enjoy the rest of your night, mate!”

“Same.”

That’s what happens when you abandon the traditional shoulder-to-shoulder peeing position. Grown men lose the power of speech.

I was still speechless when I rejoined She Who Books Things.

She didn’t notice.

Too busy looking at Sting’s biceps.