by Maddy F.
Friday was certainly an eventful night. I arrived at Regent Street at 4.00 guessing that the news of U2’s “secret” gig might have already spread like wildfire. But oddly enough, except for a few people milling around the steps of the church opposite the BBC building, there was little to indicate that anything significant was about to happen.
I tried to sit and read a newspaper, but I was growing increasingly nervous at the fact that I knew I was about to face a considerable test to my fandom that evening. This was mainly because I had a date that night who I’d arranged to meet down at Trafalgar Square at 7.45. I was therefore praying that the band did play their set at the predicted time, around 6ish, in order to give me time to get down there (I’d told him that we couldn’t meet earlier because I was doing an essay – he’s still none the wiser). If they were late, I’d might be forced to choose between my potential future boyfriend and the band I’d adored for seven years. Moments like these in life are what make you, but that still didn’t make it any more comfortable to dwell on.
At 5 I sat listening to the U2-themed Chris Evans show on the radio I’d brought along, directly opposite the building where it was being recorded – a thought that still gives me the shivers. The phone-in Q & A was given an extra lift by the fact that my friend Robyn got to speak to the band live on air, asking them the question “If you were all to play Guitar Hero, who out of you would be the best?” The band unanimously agreed that it would be Edge, but then Bono asked Robyn if she owned Guitar Hero. When she responded that she didn’t, he told her to leave her address….and he’d send her a copy.
I called her afterwards to tell her, despite my being in London and her being down in the south of England at that point, that I was more jealous of her than anything whilst she went into convulsions. It’s moments like that that make me want to shout my Pride at being a U2 fan from every rooftop. Truly, is there anyone more kind, generous and gracious than Bono? Is there a better human being alive? Okay, I’ll stop.
6.00 came. Then 6.15. Despite having been a fan for this long, in my naivety I’d thought that U2 might actually be on time. Of course they weren’t. It wasn’t until around 6.45 that they actually appeared. By this point I’d been hopping from one foot to another in the freezing cold, wearing a smart-but-thin jacket. Too thin. Damn the formalities of courtship.
Oh, but when they finally arrived … what was it the poet had said? “Bliss was then that dawn to be alive.” The atmosphere was unbelievable – I couldn’t quite get over the fact that this was a U2 show, and yet 1) I hadn’t paid a penny to be present 2) the security was minimal and 3) only a few hundred people were present, this being a band whom I wasn’t used to seeing facing any audience whose number’s didn’t reach well into the thousands.
Regent Street was glittering with a miniature sea of cameras and phones as they launched into “GOYB,” followed by “Magnificent,” “Vertigo” and “Beautiful Day.” The music was loud, the setting was intimate, and Bono was magnanimous, repeating the line that had cemented my love for him nearly seven years ago: “Thanks for giving us a great life.” In short, it was a U2 show. U2, on the off-chance you’ll ever read this, I love you.
After the set ended at around 7.05, I again foolishly spent several minutes contemplating whether to go and wait for the band, without following the many people who had suspiciously started to wend their way towards the side entrance of the building. Fully conscious that I should be heading down to Trafalgar Square, I dashed round with a few others to spend almost an hour in the now searing cold to see if the band would come and indulge us by signing a few autographs. As the time crept closer to 7.45, I was faced with the decision I’d been dreading; leave for my date or stay for U2. Gritting my teeth, I decided that U2 were more important. I texted to say that I was stuck in traffic on Oxford Street.
When they finally came out, I wasn’t tall enough to see over the heads of the people in front of me, but as the band members all got into their respective cars a few of us cheered as they went past. They hadn’t stopped to sign anything, which admittedly left me feeling more than a little disappointed, but at least it meant I was now able to sprint down to where I should have been 15 minutes previously. Pelting down Regent Street, across Piccadilly Circus and then pausing on the corner of Haymarket in order to strip off my trainers and socks to replace them with high heels was definitely one of the more surreal moments of my life. The last time I ran at that speed through Central London was, I recall, also because of U2, when back in 2006 I sprinted all the way from Victoria to Pall Mall in order to get my pass to the U2 By U2 book signing before the deadline.
But as with that time, Friday night ended well, mostly because the final destination was my bedroom.
I knew I was probably gonna go crazy that night. But it was all because of U2 … for what probably won’t be the last time. Keep ’em coming guys.
(c) @U2, 2009.