My epic journey to see Taylor Swift at Murrayfield and the moment that blew my niece's mind - Gaby Soutar

Then I remembered. WE’RE GOING ON HOLIDAY.

My other half and I considered rescheduling our weekend on the island of Luing. In the end, we decided that I could maybe still make the Sunday concert, at 4pm.

I wouldn’t tell my niece, until the day, in case something went horribly wrong.

American singer and songwriter Taylor Swift performs on stage as part of her Eras Tour in Lisbon on May 24, 2024. (Photo by ANDRE DIAS NOBRE / AFP) (Photo by ANDRE DIAS NOBRE/AFP via Getty Images)

The short ferry ride back was my main concern. The first sailing wasn’t until 11am, and the tiny boat only takes three cars.

We rushed to the harbour at 9am, just in case, and were first in the queue.

“You know it doesn’t come for a while yet?” said a local man, who was untethering his boat.

While we waited – tum-tee-tum – I felt like a restless greyhound in the trap. I tried to distract myself by counting swallows, and looking out for seals.

The other bank looked so close. I considered swimming. Maybe not.

We spent some time in their tiny waiting room, where there is reading material including Using Office 2000, which has a phenomenal plot twist, and a million back copies of Railways Magazine, should you want a break from fretting about ferries.

Anyway, the cavalry arrived bang on time - five minutes early, in fact. Once we were across and primed for the four hour drive, I video called my niece.

I made the conversation very boring, to increase the impact of the incoming surprise. She looked stultified. Until.

“I was just wondering if you were free tonight and wanted to see Taylor Swift with me?”

BOOM! She imploded, like a malfunctioning party popper full of pink glitter. “Actually inside? Tonight? How did you get the tickets?”

I told her that Taylor had read my article, which isn’t strictly true, but you never know.

My sister cried. (And I don’t think it was because she wasn’t invited).

The rest of the journey was sweaty and stressful. At one point, we were stuck behind a Sunday driver, going at 20mph in a 50mph zone, there was a very chunky cyclist, then a long convoy behind a red logging lorry, with the word Pollock’s on the side. They’re pillocks, these Pollock’s, was my refrain, for 70 miles or so.

There was a ten-minute lunch break, after we pulled in alongside a swarm of middle-aged motorcyclists, at The Green Welly Stop in Tyndrum. I inhaled a pork pie, Coke and a brownie, and contracted instant heartburn.

We got home at 3:30pm, and, at 4pm, I was outside the stadium, with my niece in tow.

I was dressed in my stinky travel clothes. She was gussied up in pink, with a love heart drawn round her left eye.

Tay Tay was on at 6pm! Woo! Except she wasn’t, it turned out to be 7pm. All that rushing, and now we had hours to kill.

We used it to queue for the portaloos, churros, water, then for Korean noodles, then for the toilets again, and to boggle at all the outfits.

The pink cowboy hats, sequins, sparkly boots, bracelets, matte red lipstick, lilac marabou coats, leotards, the T-shirts saying “A lot going on at the moment” or “Who’s Taylor Swift Anyway? Ew”.

I had to ask my niece to explain every detail of this cultural phenomenon.

After the build up, when the show’s two-minute starting countdown ended and dancers came onto stage wearing peach, orchid-like parachute costumes, from one of which Taylor emerged, I nearly shed a tear.

Yeah, this is all for my niece, but it’s my first proper pop concert. I’ve had a lifetime of tiny gigs in beer-soaked venues. This is an entirely different machine.

It was so sensorial. The set and costumes were amazing. We were all given bracelets that flashed with coloured lights to match the music. I gave my niece mine, so she could wave both hands in the air.

All this star’s devotees made it seem like a religious experience. So much adoration. She had them in the palm of her hand. These are the Swiftologists, all fully signed up to Swiftism.

Often, at big events, I feel detached, like an observer rather than a participant. This time, I was catching the feels.

How did I know so many of the choruses? I must have absorbed them by osmosis.

My niece was gutted when, three songs in, her phone ran out of charge, so she couldn’t video the entire thing. These Generation Alphas. Even though I was then tasked with videography duties, I was happy when she put the gadget away and was totally present.

At one point, she sat down, and said, “I’m so happy”. Taylor had just performed my niece’s favourite song, Mastermind.

There was another magic moment, when white squares of paper spun round the stadium. I picked a couple of these snowflakes off the floor, and slipped them into my niece's sparkly handbag, along with one of her fake eyelashes that had leapt off in the excitement

As I knew she would, my niece screamed and whooped between songs and sang every lyric with relish. I moved my lips and pretended, since I’m not au fait with them all. Yet.

Since then, it’s been like the come down after a massive pink slushie binge.

I still have the jitters. My niece has been giddy all week. The lyrics keep popping into my head.

I found a tiny square of white paper in my own pocket. All the proof I needed that Taylor was well worth the frantic journey.