These concerts were something else! Looking back, I consider myself pretty lucky, along with the other two hundred thousand fans, to say, "I was there!" Now as the Knights Arms' was getting ready for a busy summer weekend, what was I as its Landlord doing at Knebsworth, you might ask. Well, my young beautiful daughter Karen, who looked a lot older than her fourteen years, really wanted to see Pink Floyd, so Pat agreed, providing that my brother Ray stood in for me, that I could go as her chaperone, or should I say minder? So we left Porthcawl on Friday afternoon, in a convoy of assorted cars and vans, to arrive at Knebsworth three hours later. Stewards guided to a field already half full of tents, and Karen and I were really excited as we pitched our tent among the Knight Arms' crowd. With the tent up, it was time to eat - cold chicken, crusty rolls, all washed down with a can of Dry Blackthorn cider. By now, other people at the site were getting their heads down and setting their alarm clocks for an early start at the concert. Not us though, as with rolled up sleeping bags and rucksacks packed with essentials; we set off for the arena, to spend the night in the queue. When we arrived, a queue had begun to form already, so we made ourselves comfortable against the perimeter fence, not far from the entrance to wait out the six hours before the gates were opened. Some slept, some talked about the concert, there was an air of mounting excitement, and to say that I was looking forward to Floyd was the understatement of the century!


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