Four of us, all rather naive student teachers, decided to travel to London in the early 70s see a group chart topping at the time (cant even remember their name now). The gig was advertised in Melody Maker and turned out to be in the nether regions of the East End of London in a falling down hall. Hundreds of people crammed in, there were no arrangement for an aisle or any means of exiting and it was hotter than hell. The band were three hours late taking to the stage, and two audience members fainted, which eventually prompted some of the crowd to make a raid on the small bar for some water. In the face of large numbers of angry people the bartender walked off shouting help yourself and the drinks were 'liberated' and passed around. About half a dozen audience members then decided to strip naked, climb up on the stage and dance. Eventually the concert took place, but lo and behold by the time it finished in the early hours all the public transport had stopped running and we had no money for a cab, no map and no idea how to get to Kings Cross. With the wisdom of youth we decided to hitch hike and tramped through dodgy streets in inadequate clothing with our thumbs out. We were highly fortunate to get picked up by a Times jounalist who told us off in no uncertain terms. Arriving at KX we found the trains had all departed and tried to sleep on the station benches only to be moved on about every half hour by the police. Thank goodness my own children never indulged in such lunacy (or not that I know about anyway).