Put on your New York t-shirt, the one you bought after having too much wine at lunch in Soho, the price of which still causes you to gasp inside but which makes you feel fabulous.
Leave with your babysitter one sleeping child and two others reading in bed. (The fact that you now have two reading children adds exponentially to the success of the evening.)
Receive last-minute Facebook messages and calls from friends who won’t be joining you. You are on your own. This is no longer an evening out with friends; it is a date.
Proceed to Weinheim.
Find the nearest döner shop and scarf some fast food. This is not about fine dining.
Walk in a fog of garlic to the gig, where, on entry you meet some members of the band and kiss them hello. You’re kissing band members. Fangirl.
Enjoy a spectacularly vinegary €2 glass of wine.
Watch the warm-up band Skaya, who are very young and very good. Predict that the lead singer will be a superstar.
Swarm onto the dance-floor as the band, Ngobo Ngobo, start to play. Wonder why tall people always stand in front of you. (To the tall blonde guy whipping you in the face with his dreads, next time please wear a topknot.)
Find a space with a view.
Dance with your love.
Reflect that ska is happy music, and how much you prefer it and reggae to rap (it’s all in the melody).
Enjoy how your garlic fog is protecting you from the fog of cigarette smoke in the club.
Dance to every single song, including the band’s new songs, old favourites and a brilliant cover version of this:
Spend some time remembering 1984. (It was a good year.)
Keep dancing until the very last encore.
Leave smelling of sweat, garlic and other people’s cigarettes.
Release very tired babysitter and go to bed at 2am.
Wake at 6.45am thanks to the non-reading child.
Smell the smoke in your hair, and remember.
It was good.