Of all the lists I make, the Shit I Can’t Really Afford But I’m Doing It Anyway-list is my favourite. There’s loads of things on there: from snorting cocaine off an investment banker’s chest (I’m kidding, Mum) to doing a massive road trip through New Zealand, the last thing I added to it (and just ticked off) was flying into Brisbane for the sole purpose of seeing The Libertines. Honestly, I wish I was kidding, but I’m not. I 100% just spent way too much money on seeing those drunken lads perform their new songs, but it was worth every cent. It was messy, sweaty, loud, glorious, and in the end, I even got to meet them when they casually strolled out of the backstage area onto the street. I don’t know what came over me, as normally I don’t care much for meeting my idols – shout out to that girl that threw her panties on stage and told Pete and Carl to take her with them to their hotel rooms; what do you think will happen, darling? Yes, the thought of having a threesome with the boys is great, but imagine actually physically having sex with Pete Doherty. I’d rather the hot Englishman standing next to me at the gig, thanks – but I totally went Woo Girl Cray. I touched Pete’s face – honestly no idea why – and had a great talk with Carl. Carl motherfucking Barat kissed me on the cheek (but totes half on my mouth), and I thought it was the best thing ever. People who know me know that I hate physical contact with people I don’t really know – so gross – but there I was, euphoric over touching probably the nastiest lads in all of Australia. I blame Queensland, it changed me.

Unfortunately, doing all this crazy shit on my list means I’m doing most of it all by myself. It’s not that I’m lonely, but more often than not, I think about how great it would be to share all of this with the people I love (including the wild night with the boys, of course). I’m rocking up to concerts and events alone, which doesn’t really bother me, but which sadly means there’s guys swarming all over me, singling me out as if I’m the weakest Wildebeest of the herd. In no way do I mean this humblebraggingly (it’s not like they were attractive at all), but I swear I couldn’t move 5 meters yesterday without being approached by another guy. There was Guy Who Tried To Feel Me Up, Guy Who Serenaded Me, Hot English Guy, and possibly the most annoying one of all: Guy Who Thought He Had To Protect Me. I mean, one look at me, and you should realise I don’t need you to protect me. Run while you still can, boy, I will fuck you up.

I met Guy Who Thought He Had To Protect Me at the start of the gig. We were waiting for the concert to begin, and since we were both standing around awkwardly – and since he had looked at me about ten times by then – I started talking to him. He was nice, and it was good conversation to kill some time, but I’m always scared of sending wrong signals. I’m being nice, mate, not flirting with you. I don’t have a boyfriend, nor am I a lesbian, but why do I feel like I should slip in something seriously made up just to make sure you know I’m not hitting on you? Anyway, I should have – even though the whole lesbian thing would have sounded a bit strange after admitting I’d be dtf the boys – because Guy Who Thought He Had To Protect Me then turned into exactly that once the concert started: he thought he had to keep me safe from all the dancing and sweating and pushing and screaming. Not for one second did it seem to cross his mind that I was in the midst of all this dancing and sweating and pushing and screaming because I wànted to. So, for the first part of the evening, all I could think of was this really tall guy standing right behind me, feeling his body pressed against mine, and how I was going to moshpit away from him. He kept following me around for a while – not even fucking kidding, he literally followed me through the pit to see where I was – but as Guy Who Tried To Feel Me Up starting making a move, he kindly backed off a little bit. That guy’s mate first tried to stop him from dancing with me because he genuinely thought the tall guy was my boyfriend, and I literally gestured to him like nope, not my boyfriend, he’s not with me. Yes, I had to dance with that guy for a bit, and yes, he let his hands wander, but he was pretty nice, and at that point, I was so relieved to have shaken off Guy Who Thought He Had To Protect Me, I would have probably danced with anyone. I’m honestly baffled how much he tried to stick to his whole Saviour routine; I’ve literally spent the last two weeks training how to elbow people in the face in the exact way that it would not only hurt, but physically make them bleed, and I really thought that was a vibe I was giving off. I must have been wrong.

Once I lost Guy Who Thought He Had To Protect Me, though, it was pretty smooth sailing. Hot English Guy was fun to dance with for the whole five minutes we stood next to each other, and for the rest I just jumped around, pushed and pulled and danced and sang, and had a great time. When the lights came on and I started making my way to the door, Guy Who Serenaded Me came up to me. He started talking about how amazing the gig had been, and then started asking where I lived, how I was going to get there, and how he had a great apartment very close by. Then, out of the blue, he starts singing You’re My Waterloo – probably hoping someone would discover his talent, or whatnot – and I awkwardly gestured I was going to go back inside for a drink. He followed me, insisting he would buy me one, but about ten seconds after I told him there was no chance in hell I was going to go home with him and that he might as well focus on trying to pick up another chick, he suddenly had to take an imaginary phone call. The bartender gave me a free drink, and I was ready to call it a night. All in all, it had been pretty fucking epic, and it’s always good to stop on a high.

As I was walking out, Guy Who Thought He Had To Protect Me came up to me again, and without having him pressed up against me, it was pretty alright to talk to him. In a way, I really owe him, because without him, I would have left five minutes earlier, and would have totally missed meeting the boys. I would have missed Guy Who Serenaded Me serenading another girl, I would have missed seeing Guy Who Tried To Feel Me Up fall on his face, I would have missed taking a bad pic with Pete, I would have missed talking to Carl, and most importantly, I would have missed meeting the girl who thought she was coming to a Babyshambles concert, who took a photo with Carl and had no idea who he was, and who was way sad she had missed the opportunity to meet Pete. She was the cherry on top of my night; Babyshambles, bless her.