More strolling bones than rolling stones

We were going to live forever,born to be wild, born just yesterday. Above all, we were never going to turn into our parents, writes Michael Clifford

I’M standing in the middle of Croke Park, worried about Stevie Van Zandt’s cholesterol. He’s up there on the stage beside his old mucker, Bruce Springsteen. The only other time I saw Springsteen and the E Street Band in a stadium was 31 years ago at Wembley. It was the first time I was away from home, full of teenage angst and devoid of a clue as to the respective locations of my arse and elbow.

Rock ’n roll was going to save me. Not necessarily Bruce and the band, but they were in the frame. Stevie was on stage that sunny July evening, a skinny little guy doing his thing at Bruce’s right hand.