I’m a 21-year-old bloke and I love One Direction

There, I said it

| UPDATED national noad

I‘ll say this now, I‘m a closet One Direction fan.

For many years, I‘ve hidden behind this story that I had the displeasure of meeting Harry Styles once upon a time, and I used this encounter as an excuse for disliking 1D. But the story is true – and it was actually the best day of my life.

The reality is that I‘ve been a directioner since before a lot of current One Direction fans even knew what it meant to pleasure themselves using the corner of an unofficial 1D biography.

I love it when people take photos of other people taking photos

I‘d never been presented with the opportunity to go to one of their concerts before.

I lacked self-confidence, something which Liam‘s lyrics have really helped me overcome, and therefore never had the bottle to buy a ticket to go and see the boys on tour.

I couldn‘t face the ridicule.

You can imagine my joy when the BBC Music Awards line up was announced.

I disguised my true intentions behind the fact that I had never seen Coldplay before, and wanted tickets just to see them perform, not to mention my congenial tolerance of Ed Sheeran – although Sheerios are almost as slutty as Beliebers.

My girlfriend unwittingly added to the ruse by neglecting to tell me that 1D were part of the line up, simply asking me if I wanted tickets to see George Ezra and Coldplay.

I love it when a plan comes together.

My wank bank cover photo

And then it came, all over me like the anxiety related rashes I got in the build up to the release of Up All Night – the day was here.

Most of the evening was a talentless blur, segmented by moments of inspirational clarity when I saw the boys on screen or heard their names being mentioned.

Finally, they were on stage. I was so grateful to share the moment with them.

I felt like my journey had come to its end, for those brief few minutes I was exchanging sordid thoughts through a telepathic channel with those five brilliant young men.

Breathing the same air, inhabiting the same postcode, watching them on stage through my iPhone screen and an Instagram filter.

This was more than a concert, it was self-actualisation.

I didn‘t think it was possible, but they were even more harmonious than they are on their records, and they really utilised the BBC Concert Orchestra to make the backing track sound even more original, and nothing like the intro to Fleetwood Mac‘s Go Your Own Way.

After about 30 seconds of visual stimulation I was incredibly grateful to the three girls in front of me who mounted shoulders and started to gyrate on the back of their partners‘ necks.

The aural pornography stimulated my adrenalin to sufficient levels without needing a new pair of trousers, something I feared might happen if I maintained line of sight for any longer.

And just like that it was over.

I danced all night to the best song ever and One Direction, as they have for countless other young men, rocked my world for all of three minutes before climaxing and leaving me confused and dissatisfied.