Unforgettable.

Sitting in the Stadium of Light in Sunderland, surrounded by 20,000 other people; including many other die-hard Bon Jovi fans, the sun blaring, various support acts singing and drumming away, I couldn't have been happier. With my auntie, my clone as said by some. Drinking indecently expensive pints of Strongbow out of plastic cups. Scruffy floors, the height from the stage, people swarming about like bees, trying their best not to bump into other people juggling too many alcoholic beverages and band merchandise: the kind of gifty irrelevant things like t-shirts and mugs and programmes that require you to take out a bank loan to afford them. And everyone is here for the same reason. A very-fabulous, Mr Jon Bon Jovi. A man I've loved for many years, even if it was from a distance. Therefore, I jumped at the chance of actually seeing (and hearing him play) personally. Everyone knows the songs. The anthems. The soundtrack to so many people's childhoods, (unfortunately, I was born in the wrong era.) Those "how can you not know the words!?" kind of songs. The hype begins when It's My Life comes over the microphone, and everyone's on their feet in unison. Then for the classic everyone's been waiting for, Livin' On A Prayer. Even if you aren't a Bon Jovi fan, you know the words. There was wonder circulating around the stadium; what would be the final song? It was obvious wasn't it? It had to be. The song you sway to. The song you sing when thinking about the only person you really love. The ultimate power ballad. Named one of the greatest, most famous love songs of all time. Yes, you've guessed it. Always. Hearing a crowd of strangers singing in unison to one of my favourite songs ever written, as the sun gradually was disappearing on the horizon, mood lighting in tow, was one of the most memorable experiences ever. It was wonderful and romantic and very picturesque. Yes, I know. Gush gush gush. I was left speechless. Totally, utterly, unforgettable.

It's not quite Cider With Rosie.

It's a Saturday night and I'm singing to Don McLean's American Pie, burnt to a crisp, dangerously hungover and I have no plans, and I couldn't be happier. The simple things are sometimes what matter most.

My drinking escapades never to fail to amuse, embarrass and surprise me. Sometimes for the best, sometimes not so much. Last night was no different. A few drinks with food turned into a few of us heading home, involving a quick shower, an even quicker outfit change and by the stupidly early time of half six, one of my friends and I were out resuming our drinking. Lovely weather, a couple of cold refreshments and you're sorted, yes? Well, not quite. Eventful, as all my nights out are. Cue an unhealthy amount of trebles, shots of tequila at seven and jagerbombs at eight. Our "few drinks" rapidly turned into an all-nighter, rolling in at half 3, with messy make up and even messier hair. Today I smell like a brewery. Kind of gladly, kind of not. A good night? A bad night? Who cares, my state speaks for itself I think. A photo would be painful to take, and even more painful to upload. Just picture me as a very hungover, rough girly (with exceptionally burnt shoulders!) So, is it worth it? The banging headache, the nauseating feeling that makes you wish you'd never been introduced to a vodka mixer, never mind five, the soul-destroying feeling of "What did I do last night?" until you piece together the night before. The arguments, the tears, the confrontations, the spilled drinks, the sticky shoes and sore feet. Yes. It's worth it, because sometimes, it's not all screams and nasty words being spat left, right and centre. It's not always arguments and fights and petty disagreements and wrong decisions and bad timing. Just sometimes. And even then, we're young enough to accept that mistakes aren't worth dwelling on. The bad nights make the good nights even better, and a night out isn't complete without one bad decision. After all, the only thing that should be neat, is the vodka. 

'cause you're the only one that can get me on my feet, and I can't even dance.

Standing in the crowd, in the arena, surrounded by thousands of Script fans, staring up at Danny, Glen and Mark. It was as if everything else went out of focus, and my eyes were glued to the stage.

 I got to wondering, if our lives had a playlist, what would be on each of ours, and what reasons would we have for the choices? 

From your favourite, your hated, to the down-right cheesy, there are, to quote someone very special to me:  “Songs for every occasion.”

So, whether you’ve got a pint, a mic or a hairbrush in your hand, singing along, although badly, provides us with some hilarious and unforgettable memories. 

The song you'll sing on karaoke after too many Vodka and Coke's, the soundtrack to your favourite film, the oldest song you know, the one by your favourite band, the only song you like by an artist, the one with the meaningful lyrics, the one with the personal meaning for you, your best friend’s favourite party tune, the song you sing in the shower, the one that requires your best head banging and air-guitaring, the one you shamefully love, the song you privately hate, the one with the stupid lyrics, the chart song everyone just can’t get enough of, the one to sway to, the one to scream to, the one to dance to. 

Whatever occasion, whatever time of day or night, no matter where you are in the world, I love that if a particular song comes over the radio, it’s like everyone knows what’s coming. That moment of recognition and expectation, where everyone, even strangers, exchanges knowing glances, just before they burst into dance. Those moments are the outstanding ones, the ones you’ll never forget.

Whether it’s the song that reminds you of That Ex, that special someone, a certain situation or it’s just a song that everybody loves to hate, music brings us together in a way that language never can. There’s nothing like the feeling of being surrounded by strangers, and a song coming on, and everyone sharing that one moment, no matter what’s happening in their own lives, for a moment, nothing matters, except the present. 

Slap on your craziest grin, put on your dancing shoes and whack out your air-guitar, because it’s not going to last forever.