The Stones played in Germany, last month. My sons paid a monkey a pop at Fortuna Düsseldorf's ground, but I agreed to front the score as long as they promised me faithfully that they wouldn't tell their mother about it. Ever. Because naturally she would want to go too, with a daughter or two tagging along as well. And, worst of all, I would have to go with them.
It comes from when I was a kid; my older brothers have never forgiven themselves for never getting around to seeing Marvin Gaye before he passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. So now, even to my youngsters, I say, never miss the chance as you never know if they'll be back.