The perils of having a teenager with a will of iron is that Rob and I end up in ridiculous situations for which we are far too old.

The latest campaign launched by daughter was to see a band called Sir Chloe. I’d never heard of them, but that wasn’t a surprise. The only bands I know had their heyday in the 90s. The trouble was as Daughter is only 15 she not only had to show ID she had to be accompanied by an adult AT ALL TIMES. She had searched around for an adult but had been unsuccessful so eventually decided we’d have to be the chaperones.

There were a number of catches. Firstly we’d have to get up to London when all the trains were on strike. Second, the only tickets available were ‘unseated’ aka the mosh pit. Thirdly Rob and I are in our 50s. Daughter said the average age of a Sir Chloe fan was probably about 17. Great. To the youthful audience we’d look like we’d just stepped out of Cocoon. They wouldn’t get that reference as it came out 25 years before they were born.

The whole thing sounded like an absolute nightmare but Daughter wasn’t backing down. A long and intense campaign began. She sweetened the pill by promising we could go for a Chinese in China town.

Well that swung it for me – I’ve always been a sucker for a bit of lemon chicken and egg fried rice in the heart of London. To be fair it was lovely and I got some lovely photos of a sunny China Town to put on my Instagram.

The concert was at Heaven – a club I remembered from the 80s and 90s. Its name had a cool alternative glamour – – far too cool and glamorous for the likes of me.

Of course it still is too cool and glamorous for the likes of me but it was dark enough that Rob and I could slink about in the shadows and enjoy the music without embarrassing daughter and her friend.

I couldn’t help a rush of excitement (the bottle of wine over dinner probably helped) as we arrived at Heaven. Cool as all you like. Scary looking bouncers were at the door, neon strobes and pounding music were lighting up the darkening sky. Daughter and friend were positively vibrating with anticipation.

I asked the bouncer hopefully if he wanted to check my ID but he just laughed and shook his head – the git. To my delight the woman on the door made me hold out my hand so I could get it stamped. I can’t remember the last time I got a club name on my hand. Probably not this century.

The Heaven stamp on the back of my hand looked incongruous against the backdrop of my liver spots.

The warm up act were on and sounded fantastic. Daughter and mate disappeared into the crowd. ‘Don’t get kidnapped! Don’t drink anything! Don’t eat when you’re walking’ I yelled after them but they didn’t hear.

I’m not surprised they didn’t hear me. Within minutes of the headling band – Sir Chloe – coming in on Rob kept nudging me. ‘What?’ I yelled.

He pointed to his Apple Watch.

‘Warning! Noise level 100db’ it said. ‘ Just a few minutes at this level can cause temporary hearing loss. Repeated exposure to sounds at this level can cause permanent damage.’

Luckily Daughter had found some old ear plugs stuck on the bottom of her drawer – unused she said – and Rob and I had squished and squashed them deep into our lug holes so we could enjoy the music without being deafened.

But what about all these young people? I thought, and spent quite a lot of time worrying about them. They were only young! What damage were they doing to their innocent young ear drums? Were the musicians wearing ear plugs? I couldn’t see. Oh dear!

Husband and I were leaning discreetly against one of the arches where we were safe from the moshing crowd but could get a pretty good view. After a while, I became increasingly aware that the crowd of young people around us were shrinking away so that there was a clear semi-circle between us and their dancing backs. I felt like a teacher at a school disco.

The only person present I felt any kinship with was the middle-aged manager who was bustling about making sure everything was running smoothly behind the scenes. She tweaked bar mats into neat lines and refilled hand sanitiser bottles, while the younger staff milled about looking like they would rather they were in the mosh pit with their brethren rather than mopping up sick and spilled beer.

Sir Chloe were great. I’d never heard them before but it was wonderful to see a live band having a good time with a strong set of high-powered (and short) songs that the crowd loved.

The songs were called things like ‘Leash’, ‘Salivate’ ‘Animal’ and ‘I am the Dog.’ I couldn’t really hear the lyrics but that was probably just as well as I think they were pretty dark.

The lead singer, Dana Foote was super cool. Laconic androgynous, the crowd going wild whenever she spoke didn’t faze her. She wore a black dinner jacket suit with a big collared white shirt and a jaw length curly black bob. Pale face, black eyes and her big white rock and roll guitar was strapped to her like a shield.

 When talking to the crowd her voice was quiet and without inflection. But when the music began she roared and taunted with so much passion and energy I understood why all the young people were going bananas.

Thanks to the wax plugs my ear drums didn’t start bleeding, but it was clearly very loud as I could feel the bass and drums vibrating my sternum so hard I thought my rib cage would start juddering out from under my skin.

Just outside the main room, through the arches, was a big empty space where the bars were, and there I saw two girls with gloriously crazy hair and kooky outfits dancing to the music with wild joy and abandon – all by themselves. They swung each other round up and down before streaming past us and diving back into the heaving crowd.

There is no WiFi in Heaven and not even a single bar of 3g. Luckily I could still open my Kindle app, so when my back and feet began to ache I could go and sit in the corner and catch up on the latest Clare Mackintosh. (Her latest is really good, by the way)

Eventually the concert ended. Daughter and friend staggered out from the mosh pit bright pink and hoarse from scream-singing. They were incoherent with excitement and took about a billion selfies of themselves with the backdrop of the stage, the mosh pit area, the bathrooms and bars before they reluctantly agreed we could get going.

We stopped off for some Korean corn dogs on the way home as well as some bilog stuffed with ube icecream. Food I’d never eaten in my life until that moment. It was delicious.

Rob and I felt like country bumpkins as we blinked at the glory of the London skyline. The Shard, St Paul’s, the London Eye all lit up and showing off. It was a wonderful sight.

I still prefer trees and the sleepy Kentish countryside, but it was nice to go up town for a change. I couldn’t cope with all the people, noise and traffic for long but there’s no buzz like the buzz of London on a Saturday night. Maybe we’ll try it again one day. But I’ll be sure to wear trainers next time – my feet are still killing me.