Did any of you ever have a teenage obsession - one you are willing to admit to that is?
As regular readers of this blog know, mine was Duran Duran.
For a handful of mad years from the age 12 or 13 I loved those pouting and preening Brummies (although to be fair only three of them were from Birmingham) with an all consuming passion that my mother must have despaired of.
On Saturday I saw them live again for the first time in 25 years - and finally got to meet the band.
The former was fantastic. The latter was just weird.
Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I met them and very grateful to those who organised it for me.
But it was one of the strangest, most surreal and - in the light of my erstwhile teenage hormone-fuelled worship of them - hilariously disappointing moments of my year.
All I could think was "I'm so glad I didn't do this when I was 14 or I would have become disappointed and cynical at a whole lot younger age."
I suppose it was just a massive anti-climax. I suppose I was expecting that old pulse-racing excitement.
At my age I should really know better.
It started with a number of us being ushered backstage and lined up against the wall in the same way people who are being presented to a "royal" tend to be - but without the curtseying.
The Durans wandered down the line, wielding autograph pens and exchanging the odd pleasantry with each one of us.
I'm 39 - I don't do autographs any more, although I had brought my camera for the occasion rather hoping (fruitlessly as it happens) to get a photo of myself with the whole band.
Simon le Bon was first up, followed by Nick, Roger, and John bringing up the rear.
(Simon le Bon finally gets to meet little old me!)
One thing you tend to notice when you meet your "idols" is that mostly they seem a whole lot shorter in real life! I met Nick Rhodes eyeball to eyeball and even John Taylor didn't seem the 6ft 1in I recall him being - but then he was in a jacket two sizes too small for him and stooping.
They were polite and smiling, but it was obvious these meet and greets are a chore to get through before returning to their dressing rooms packed with sprouting mung beans (!!) and vintage champagnes which I hear they had requested.
Although apparently they weren't allowed candles after the show because of health and safety!
After exchanging greetings an excruciating, foot-shuffling silence descended on le Bon, myself and the friend I had brought with me.
"You are shy aren't you?" le Bon told said friend.
Actually, I think she was simply embarrassed.
Feeling the cold hand of desperation beginning to clutch my shoulder I stepped in, suggesting these type of things were always a bit awkward really and it must be a bit like being a member of the royal family trying to think of things to talk about.
Fair play to him, he gamely entered into the analogy by cod-asking if we'd 'come far' before drifting on down the receiving line.
Nick, who is looking more like Andy Warhol every day - all that peroxide can't be good for the hair, talked about how it was at least 20 years since they'd last played Liverpool because until now there had been no venue big enough.
In return I explained the last time I'd seen them was at the NEC in 1983.
Historic stuff!
Not normally short of "cocktail and canape conversation", frankly, I found myself struggling.
I briefly thought things were taking a turn for the better when I heard Roger Taylor - who close up has aged far better than the others - tell the girl next to me "we can still get it up". Bless him, he soon realised his faux pas when we both started laughing......but the moment was over in, well, a moment and that was about as pulse-racing as it got.
For me, things should have ended on a high with John Taylor, the Duran I always fancied the most!
Alas, how can I put this? He seemed somewhat away with the fairies, and although he shook my hand I can't recall him uttering a single word to me before he got sidetracked by someone wanting his autograph.
And that was it. Years of unwavering teenage worship, and five minutes of middle-aged pleasantries!
That's life I suppose.
But thank heaven the concert was a whole different kettle of fish.
Earlier I'd bumped into Bob Prattey, chief exec of the Arena and former boss at the Birmingham NEC.
"It's just like old times," he told me.
And it certainly was.
Once they'd done the obligatory couple of numbers from the new album (which to be fair I'd be hard pressed to pick out in a line-up), what we got was two hours of fantastic sing-a-long memories.
It certainly didn't feel like a quarter of a century since I'd last seen them on stage strutting their stuff.
And while I didn't stand on my chair and scream like l did when I was 14, I did dance and sing and clap and cheer like the rest of the roaring Arena crowd.
