You have the right to listen
Yesterday, I was lucky enough to be taken to the Goldfrapp concert at the Brixton Academy by a good friend. It was a belated birthday present and it was well worth the wait. I was surprised to see that almost everyone in the hall assumed their position standing in neat little rows and patiently waited for Alison Goldfrapp to entertain us. Unfortunately, one group of 3 girls with a presumably long-suffering fellow decided to buck the trend and landed up in front of us.
Normally this would be nothing more than a mild annoyance, the consequence of which would be similar to those befalling queue jumpers - a sigh, some tutting and perhaps some foot-tapping in extreme cases. This case, however, would turn out to be completely different as one of the constituents talked constantly to her friends throughout the supporting act. Again, not the end of the world as nobody could make out what he was singing about, although one number was almost certainly about Shaftsbury Avenue. The group then continued to talk whilst the roadies were setting up the band’s instruments - a process which involved tuning and retuning the same guitar about seven times - and we silently prayed that she would stop when Goldfrapp started.
30 minutes later, the lady Alison graced us with her barefooted presence and the music started. About 20 minutes into the concert, our little foursome was still babbling their heads off - imagine an entire heard of donkeys looking at their back legs in surprise as they separate from their bodies and fall onto the ground with a loud “thud”. My friend, spurred on by sighs, tutting and muttering from other concert-goers within the vicinity asked one of the girls to keep it down as we were trying to enjoy the concert too. She was perfectly polite and was greeted with an Estuary-accented response of “Oh whatever. You’re not even from this country”. Well, said friend held her composure and politely explained that she had still paid money to see the concert, which was met with an incredibly mature response of “Oh, just go back to your own country, will ya?” and she continued sipping her pint.
After having slept on it, the full implications of this girl’s attitude have sunk in and I’m appalled by the racist nature of her comment. Do we have less of a right to enjoy a concert simply because neither of us was born in the UK? Does this mean that we shouldn’t enjoy the full value of a ticket? Are we expected to settle for whatever we can get just because our accents are different?