Am I.. finally old?

I’ve never really had what you’d call a pan-chant for younger fellas.

Always that bit older. Much I think to my Dad’s irritation with lads as a youngster. “For chuff’s sake, who’s this now” he’d mutter…

Liam Gallagher was my number one crush as a teenager. The whole Manchester thing he had going down was attractive; his hair was to die for (oh the irony in marrying Mr Potatohead), that Manc twang; not giving two shits and being an-all round party boy, what wasn’t to like? I was pretty convinced at 17 that we were getting married – he just hadn’t met me yet and Patsy was merely a passing fancy!

Then, in my 20s there was my love; George Clooney; I’d discovered the silver fox. Hello boys, I’ve arrived! Who knew?!

Anyway, as friends had dalliances with younger fellas the older we got, at 30 and single, I was, quite frankly revolted by younger men. If you were in your 20s during the 2000s, you’d totally get this. Justin Timberlake, Zac Efron, Channing Tatum – no ta, not my cup of tea. At all.

So of course as Benico Del Toro, Jamie Foxx, Jason Statham and Matthew McConaughey started to age much like Gorgeous George – that’s to say, like fine bloody wine, and that was it; hook, line and sinker; I’d had my head turned. Wayne will tell you I adore every single glass of wine I ever drink, so may be tells you everything you need to know!

And it was this way for years. I eventually met Mr Potatohead. I mean just cos you’ve a ring on your finger, doesn’t mean you stop having your celeb crushes (his jaw literally hits the floor when he sees the OG J-LO) and so life went on; Wayne reminding me that I could have a free pass with the delightfully easy on the eye Henry, should I ever get a break.

And then last Summer, this all changed. Off to Hillsbrough we headed. Now, you might blame it on the sun stroke (it was like the hottest day ever, you know, the kind of day that makes you genuinely happy to be alive and be with your best mates – even if one was missing) or maybe it the amount of booze we knocked back that day…I’ll tell you it wasn’t. I was thunder struck.

Arctic Monkeys, 10th June, 2023.

Alex Turner strutted onto stage. The hair, the suit. Doing his thing. And I literally couldn’t breathe. Brianstorm was the opener and I was paralysed, quite literally by Alex.

For a moment I forgot I was a 40-odd year old woman with husband (albeit pretty battered at this point) in tow.

Had I finally succumbed to the younger fella? I mean not literally, but metaphorically, speaking?

I’ve a pissed memory of Wayne being at the bar and Hel’s in the loo and I was stood with my mate Theban. I don’t remember the convo as such, but I do remember saying “I defo still would” much to Theban’s laughter and Wayne returning mid convo rolling his eyes.

Work Monday am and my boss asked how Saturday night had gone – she was a fellow Arctic Monkeys fan and keen to know if I’d enjoyed them as much I remembered at Lancashire Cricket Ground years ago.

“OMG Ellie, they were amazing. Alex came on stage and he was just… I don’t know how to describe it. Hot. And not charismatic but he just had this THING.”

Now Ellie is a little older than me in her early 50s but exclaimed how she totally got it – the swagger, the confidence, quite frankly the je nais se quoi that we both couldn’t put our finger on as middle aged women, totally hoodwinked by the beauty of this younger fella…. She’d recently seen Damon Albarn and had the same conclusions!

Which leads me to my conclusion, have I finally admitted defeat in being most agreeable and not aversive to the younger fella these days?

I mean, hypothetically speaking Alex if you’re by chance reading this and I’m single, in your own words, I’d still take you home…!

And Wayne, if you’re reading this, maybe love, we talk about those free passes and maybe, just maybe I relinquish that one for the legend that’s Thierry Henry!

Maybe, I am after all, getting old…