So last week I took my daughter to see Taylor Swift. As I have bored readers with on several occasions, getting a ticket felt like the pop music equivalent of one of Willy Wonka’s golden tickets.

But armed with tickets, my Taylor Swift T-shirt and concerns about how I was going survive eight hours without a toilet break, I was ready.

I’ve been to lot of gigs over the years, but this one was different in many ways, not least the make-up of the crowd.

By my estimate it was about 90 per cent female, leaving the boyfriends and Dads nodding at each other in recognition.

And everyone was dressed up – the de rigueur outfit seemed to be a sequined dress for the ladies and the Kansas City Chiefs American football jersey of Taylor’s boyfriend for the gentleman Swiftie.

The queueing started early. By the time we got in line just after one, there were already thousands of fans waiting at different checkpoints.

Given the number of blankets, duvets and camping chairs, many had been there for numerous hours already.

I was curious as to what they were going to do with their gear, given you were only allowed a bag the size of a postage stamp into the stadium.

Sure enough, when it was time to enter, the Swifties dumped all their camping and sleeping gear and made a run for it, with a steward waiting with a skip to collect.

In the same way that thousands of people leave their tents at Glastonbury, this was clearly a thing. I just hoped the stuff ended up somewhere useful.

Once in the stadium, we made a beeline for the barrier. The Taylor Swift stage is best described as a giant T stretching down halfway along the stadium.

This meant there was no one prime spot, and also more barrier space than normal.

Because of that, a bit of luck and my daughter’s determination, we made our way to the front.

Here, I must say a thank you to the kind Swifties who we’d beaten to the front, but were happy to save my space while I went to the loo.

That, plus a dehydration policy for the day may not have done much for my kidneys but did see me through.

And at the end of the concert, the lack of men meant no queue! Good times.

As for the concert, well even an old cynic like me could see it was amazing. Tight choreography and costume changes, loud singalongs and special effects is not what you get when you go and see Bob Dylan.

It was a one off: watching the biggest pop star on the planet from five metres away.