Having freshened up and cooled off at our Cardiff hotel, we set off in the direction of the Principality stadium and it’s not too difficult to locate, as the nearer we get, the more crowded the streets become.

We need to walk through a shopping centre and I become mesmerised by the array of outfits and assortment of ages and types as we go. I’m particularly fascinated by the giant, clompy boots and tiny skirt of a young woman in front of us who can barely walk and must tug at her miniscule, tight skirt constantly with poor results. There are, I think, some benefits to being old enough to be excused extreme elements of fashion.

It is still hot- still in the 30s as we near the Stadium, but with a specific gate we need to enter we’ve no clue whereabouts on the perimeter we should be. We’re approaching the main entrance, behind a wide concourse and at last we’re directed to an entrance- and steps up…

I have a bottle of water in my bag. I’m surprised when the security man allows me to keep it, after I tell him I must take some tablets, but he waves me through. I look up at the staircase. We begin to climb. After a good number of staircases, we reach the corridor with all the food and drink stalls. As usual, the choice is limited to what the sponsors provide. We must walk on round to our section of the terrace, which is some distance.

When we get there. we climb up and emerge into the stadium- but we’re not at our seats yet- oh no. Now we have to mountaineer our way up, up and up until we reach our row. Husband, in front of me, strides on up. It is unbearably hot- more so in the stadium which must be acting like a heat trap. I walk up and walk up, lagging further behind. When I look up he is still climbing. How much further? Now I do need to sit and it feels punishing.

Our row is near to the top. I’m very glad to reach it.

When I reach into my bag, my fingers close around the fan I bought in Portugal. This is a lucky find! I draw it out and use it. Around the stadium, many others are doing the same!

Before long, a band has set up and begins to play- I’ve no idea who. Next, ‘Blossoms’ is on. I know they played Glastonbury but I’m not especially excited by them. Husband disappears down the steps and returns with beer. Heinekin, of course, strictly speaking not beer at all, but lager. Boring it may be, but cold and welcome.

After Blossoms there’s a break while the stage is rearranged. I employ my fan and hope I don’t need to use the toilets, which may as well be a million miles away for all the mountaineering involved. Next to me, a father ministers to his young son, who is suffering in the heat. A shaft of sunshine has hit the corner of the stadium and I’m grateful not to be stuck in there. At least we’re in shade.

There is, however, nothing to top the thrill of a packed stadium waiting with bated breath to see and hear a famous, successful band and then when they appear on stage. The sun is dipping, the stadium erupts. I feel emotional. Here they are then. The Stereophonics…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com