IF I WERE a religious person, this week I’d be heading off to confession to utter these words: “Bless me father, for I have sinned. Recently I behaved in a childish, immature fashion, and to make matters worse I enjoyed it”… then, after a pause, I’d hurriedly add “but, to be fair, I wasn’t the only one doing it”.

Mind you, I don’t think going to confession would do me any good anyway, because I don’t really regret it, and I’m likely to do it again.

Here’s what happened. A few weeks ago I was lucky enough to be given tickets to see Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney in Hyde Park. Brilliant! A dream which started back in 1985 when I, a young 14-year-old living in Australia, watched thousands of people waving lighters in the air as they sang Hey Jude at Live Aid, was about to be fulfilled.

Although, admittedly, after 25 years things have changed a little – nowadays, the moment is made a little less magical due to the fear of being clonked on the head by a middle-aged woman waving a digital camera.

Now, call me old, but why is it that wherever you stand at a concert, there always seem to be people who misinterpret the one-inch gap between you and your friend to be a pathway?

And why is it the only smoker around always positions themselves in front of you?

If you’re particularly lucky, they’re a cigar smoker, which does wonders for hay fever sufferers like me. And, while I’m at it, why does the tallest guy always end up standing directly in front of you?

And what is it about all of these things that turns your average mild-mannered 30-something singleton (me) into a manipulative, vindictive cow?

I know I’m not the only one though. I watched a lot of people in the crowd respond in the same way.

First it starts with just a few of you closing ranks by squeezing together sardine-style, so people have no choice but to choose another route.

The clever among us also become particularly good at strategically placing bags and elbows to stop any intruders. Then you move to doing things like discussing loudly near the smokers how you’re glad you don’t smoke because those figures on lung cancer are just soaring out of control.

Childish, I know, but it’s the exact same thing that happens when you get stuck on a plane beside a stranger who insists on taking the arm rest. It might take a few hours and consume far more time than is mentally healthy, but at some point during the trip there’s that great moment where you finally get YOUR arm onto it isn’t there?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those people who must win at all costs. And I truly do believe there are many more important things in life than winning. But sometimes, just sometimes it’s good NOT to be a loser.