Oasis Heaton Park: Here's what shocked our reporter about the crowds at band's Manchester gigs

In a few minutes, it’ll be finally confirmed: we’ve made it, the Gallagher brothers haven’t had an almighty row in the dressing room - we are actually going to see Oasis perform perhaps one of the biggest homecoming gigs of all time.

The most famous brotherly feud in rock history is, let’s face it, part of the appeal. Oasis’s lore is centred around the push and pull chemistry between Liam and Noel that has led to some of the greatest songs in UK music.

No one wants to have shed out hundreds of pounds to be at the gig where it’s announced that they’re not coming on stage, in a similar vein to their big split at V Festival in 2009. I can’t be the only one among 80,000 souls in Manchester who won’t truly believe it until I see it.

And it’s this anticipation, mingled with a tiny bit of fear, which causes this crowd to crackle.

I’ve been to many outdoor concerts before. Once a seasoned veteran of Leeds Festival, I know that sometimes things can get a bit ugly. Thousands of groups of people waiting for their favourite band in the sun coupled with access to a lot of beer? It was a mosh pit waiting to happen.

I’m not ashamed to admit it: in an ideal world, these days at the wrong side of 30, I like the guarantee of my own space with a seat at a concert. This wasn’t an option at Heaton Park and I was perhaps a little apprehensive about what was to come.

But from the moment the brothers appeared on stage, hand in hand (briefly, it must be said), my fears began to quell.

Because this crowd wasn’t there for trouble. They were there to be together.

For anyone over the age of 40, lucky enough to remember Oasis the first time round (and perhaps even be veterans of their legendary Knebworth concerts), it was a trip back in time.

And they made up a sizeable proportion of the crowd, work and childcare worries forgotten for a couple of blissful hours as Oasis tore through anthem after anthem.

But joining them were so many younger fans. Those of us who were just that bit too young for Britpop (I was in primary school and more interested in the Spice Girls, it has to be said) and those even younger - teenagers who have grown up to Definitely Maybe being played on long car journeys. And all of us in a sea of bucket hats, worn completely unironically.

There are few bands I can think of performing today who can unite across the generations in this way. We’re all there together, doing the Poznan during Cigarettes and Alcohol, jumping up and down to Rock and Roll Star, and wiping away a sentimental tear during Half the World Away while thinking of lovely Caroline Aherne and her genius Royle Family (that last one might have just been me…).

Yes, it’s spirited to say the least. I’m covered a few times with some liquid which I desperately pray is nothing more sinister than beer. There are lots of men who decide to take their tops off - and, naturally, the odd smelly flare is set off. But at no point do I, or anyone around me, feel unsafe or uncomfortable. This is the place. It’s the place for these brothers, who grew up a few miles away in Burnage, and who could have little dreamed back in those early Oasis days that one day it all would come back to this.

And as the fireworks burst over Heaton Park, erupting us all into the Champagne Supernova encore, we stand arms around each other, screaming every line. This is the place for us all. As I wrap my arms around two of my oldest friends, for a couple of hours, I’m 19 again – and that’s the beauty of this concert. In those two hours, we’re all whoever we were when we first fell in love with this pair of shambolic, beautiful brothers. You and I are gonna live forever.