Radiohead and a flying pickled egg

"I'm too bloody old to stand in a field," I declared in 2008 after seeing Radiohead at Glasgow Green. "I'm never doing that again!"

Long-time blog visitors may recall my obsessive love of this band. The enduring crush on Ed O'Brien, the multiple trips to Amsterdam; actually fainting at their feet one time. In hindsight, to not be arsed to see them in concert for almost a decade, nor buy their albums immediately on release, clearly indicated a loss of mojo.

When I saw they were returning to Glasgow Green this July to headline the vowel-less TRNSMT Festival, I pounced on the chance to reclaim my music-loving self. No more of this too old/too fat/too cranky bullshit.

I went alone because Gareth said he was too old to stand in the field.

(I bet he'd have made an exception if it had been Iron Maiden or Rush!)

I splurged on a VIP Day ticket, so I could sit down in a quiet area between bands if it all became too much. Ultimately, I only went into the VIP area once to use the loo. It was the priciest pee of my life. But it was worth every penny to spend that penny in supreme cleanliness.

The gig was bloody brilliant! I ended up with a great view of the stage. I was surrounded by people who weren't born when I bought OK Computer and a very drunk bloke who bellowed at regular intervals, "Play The Bends! Play The Bends!".

The highlight of the evening - aside from the band's rendition of Daydreaming (sniffle) - was during the break between the Belle & Sebastian and Radiohead sets. A group of young ladies decided to sit on the ground to stake out their spot.

Before long, a woman appeared, holding a plastic cup of beer in one hand and a tray full of hot chips (with a pickled egg on top). She was highly sozzled, so she promptly tripped over the grounded folks.

Chips and beer were sprayed in all directions. The pickled egg tumbled through the air before going straight down the shirt of one of the seated.

"AWW NAW! MAH PICKLED EGG!" wailed its owner, as the seated girl fished it out of her cleavage with as much dignity one could retrieve a pickled egg.

Anyway. It was a truly magical night. When Radiohead finally played The Bends, the drunk bloke tapped me on the shoulder and yelled, "ISN'T THIS AMAZIN'!" and I yelled back, "HELL YEAH!".

Also amazing: Billy Connolly mural, spotted en route to the festival