Look, I haven’t seen the Stones yet, OK?
No, not never, I was lucky enough to be at Wembley in 1982 (!) when saving bus fare plus a part-time cleaning job could help a teenage schoolboy impress a prospective girlfriend with a pair of tickets. Then there was 2007 at The O2 in rather more corporate surroundings surrounded by old friends.
But, I didn’t go to Glastonbury, and I didn’t go to Hyde Park, so I am unable to tell if “Time Is Still On (Their) Side” or whether they should just “Please Go Home”.
I know the answer though, regardless of the jealous ageist nonsense being spouted by everyone from Pete “they’re old farts who are too old to tour” Waterman through to (ageing) comedians like Frankie “Moves like Jagger is now something a care-worker writes on a physiotherapy report.” Boyle, Bill Bailey and Ross Noble.
When I do get to go next weekend it will be a bloody great night out, one of the more memorable gigs of the girls’ teenage years, and a shared family experience we will each recall for the rest of our lives. How many other bands would engender that feeling?
Reading all the interviews and reports afterwards, so many centre around teens and twenty-somethings brought to this extraordinary body of music by dad or mum.
As any parent knows, in whatever walk of culture, you can lead your children to water but you cannot make them drink up the same tastes. So, for every ‘bust’ like David Bowie (sad face), Woody Allen, Curb Your Enthusiasm or It Happened One Night there is the joy of shared love: Carmen, Friends, F Scott Fitzgerald, Bob Marley and The Godfather movies (oh, OK, they haven’t actually seen those yet, but they WILL love them because I am gonna make them an offer they can’t refuse).
It works both ways. They have introduced me to culture I learned to love from Harry Potter and The Killers through to The Inbetweeners, which – almost - cancels out the many long hours of Avril Lavigne, The Jonas Brothers, High School Bloody Musical, Gossip Girl, Zak and Cody, Big Brother, Twilight, Made In Chelsea. I was going to write The Teletubbies, but I still miss them.
Some things are a work in progress: they are trying to teach me Game of Thrones, and I am weeding them on to The Sopranos. But there is no doubt that this week, two teenagers born 35 years after Mick and Keith first strutted their bluesy stuff around a stage, are even more excited than their old man to be going to Hyde Park on Saturday. And, quite simply, what’s not to like about that?
Stefano Hatfield is editorial director of London Live