I was a whinger, a cynic, a misanthrope. Then I saw Harry Styles live

Small questions reveal more than we expect. I used to wish I had known the implications of buying Wig Wam Bam by Black Lace as my debut music purchase, aware of how ridiculous you feel saying those words, so when the chance came to give my son a dream reply to “What was your first concert?” I took him to Harry Styles at Wembley during a thermometer-shattering heatwave.

I knew it would be good and, as my 11-year-old and I are Styles fans, I expected it to be significant and lovely. What I wasn’t expecting was an almost religious experience. This gig altered my physiology; my life is now divided BH and AH. That surprised me, because I am a moaner, a complainer, a whinger, a cynic and a misanthrope who hates crowds, big events and enforced fun — even when I’ve been looking forward to something, I’m always thrilled if it’s cancelled.

On paper there were plenty of things to roll my eyes at. When he arrived and said, “Good evening, my name is Harry,” it sounded ludicrous; in person it was charming, humble and wholesome.

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