Bromley-by-Bow station is an odd place to find yourself at a quarter to twelve half scared out of your wits but at the same time glad to be there, and even more so glad of the company of fellow gig goers who turn up five minutes later on the once deserted platform.

"Well that was shit", said the guy who turned up. Despite my best attempts at looking like I'd not been to the Radiohead gig and got a bit lost on the way home, just like him and his friends, he'd clocked me. A fellow indie "kid" at the wrong end of town. I have to say I was a bit disappointed that he'd figured out I wasn't a local. But I gave myself a quick once over and it was a bit obvious to be honest. Khaki isn't exactly a street look around these parts.

"I quite liked it", I gamely replied. I didn't want to admit I was glad of the company. Someone like me. Fuck. Life's changed. Tonight of all nights. What a time to realise. Even as I'm listening to "Reckoner" as I write this, it's obvious that I'm a stranger in a strange town. It's not going to change, not now.

"They didn't play any hits", came the reply from my new found companion. OK, it wasn't an MTV tribute that's for sure. I didn't even know the last song they played if I'm being honest. But they did play "Reckoner", which was fantastic. I love the song, the way it grabs me and soothes me and scares me all at once. It's a song that seems to speak to me in a way that I can't describe, but I know for sure I'm not the only one who feels the textures, the longing, the feeling of something missed. I looked around me. I recognised the look in their eyes as I looked at the crowd around me.

"That's why you love them". I'm not sure if that was profound or just me being an arse. But I followed it up with an impressive sounding insight: "I bet you've seen them before. I bet you were surprised then. Perhaps they played all the hits. Perhaps they didn't. But what surprised you most was that they played it by their own rules". I paused. Just to take in my own magnificence. But then I remembered where I was. Just a drunk white bloke on a tube sounding like a twat. Just to be sure I looked around the tube. No one was listening or at least they were polite enough to pretend that they weren't.

"My little lad wanted to come", said the guy who I had just worked out looked a bit like Justin Lee Collins off of the Friday Night Project. Only he had shorter hair and was a bit more pissed on a tube than any media savvy celebrity would ever be.

"How old is he?", I asked. "Eight". There was a pause. I was half expecting him to say "and a quarter". But he told me he had two younger girls after I asked him why he didn't bring the lad along. But it was clear that something wasn't right. I didn't feel right. I'm not sure he did either, but for two very different reasons.

His life had changed in a tangible way. He told me how he was gutted that they were the only band who could get away with what they did tonight. What he meant was that every night out, let alone a 50 quid one, is something to be cherished. He knew his music as it turned out. Perhaps he can't afford the time to listen to something new or challenging anymore. But that's what we both agreed was the reason why we went. We had no idea what they might do. A stadium act, a global phenomenon, at once the most personal thing in the world to all who came, and at the same time, if they let us, a karaoke soundtrack for the varied lives that we all lead.

I reflected on the night. I'd spent it with friends. I'd had a good time and I'd left to go home. In my usual foolish way I went home without planning where I was going. Hackney isn't the best place to get lost in at night. I knew that, but tonight I knew my life has changed. No longer the innocent, I walked along Roman Road trying not to look as scared as I was. I knew it was written all over me. I've never felt that way before and I hated it.

"I can't listen to Kid A", said the man as we approached East Ham. "Nor can I," I replied, adding "one day, I'm sure I will.". It came on tonight as I put the stereo on. I couldn't listen to it. Too much for me. I wanted comfort and familiarity. I put "In Rainbows" on instead. I felt better as I listened to it.

There's not a band on earth who can evoke such a range of emotions from all who listen. Love. Hate. Sadness. Joy. Pain and pleasure. It's all there. It was there at Victoria Park and never mind what my travelling companion thought about the set list, he knew, as did all of us who went, that what we saw and heard tonight was a thing of frail, flawed beauty; a living work of art in these, our troubled times.