"I want to go to the front and dance" I say.
It is not so much that I am drunk (though I am a little bit) but more the fact that I am hyper. It is some time since there has been a Griffin gig attended by more than a couple of us and it would be a fair conclusion that we have all become a bit giddy. Not so giddy that I have been unable to first-aid Gayle's foot I would add, but giddy enough that I found Ox crisps, a pringle machine and an unreadable stamp on my hand utterly hilarious.
There is the general consensus that dancing is, quite literally, the way forward. We begin to snake our way to the front, it is not as difficult as such a mission, this late in the evening, normally is. But, I mentally correct myself, this is not a normal gig.
I find myself in the gap between the stage and the watching crowd. I turn round to see where everyone else is.
Clearly the band on stage have clocked what I am doing.
"Come and dance" urges Cute Lead Singer.
It is all the persuasion that we need. I begin to dance, dance how I would at any other gig, maybe how I would in the comfort of my own room.
"Come on up!" says Cute Lead Singer during the next song.
I clock immediately that Becky has had exactly the same thought as me. Cute Lead Singer had better watch his turn of phrase if he doesn't want us to storm the stage. Instead we rush up to the barrier where he is now standing, our limbs flailing in time to the music.
After we have danced and whooped some more the set comes to an end and Cute Lead Singer comes to talk to us.
"It was brilliant to see people dancing" he says, the enthusiasm radiating from his eyes. I adore him instantly. I sense that none of us are impervious to the love.
It is only later that we think to introduce ourselves.
"We're the Northern Division" Becky says. "That's all you need to remember".