While thousands of Aussies enjoyed boring Coldplay, a group of diehard fans relived the glory of a golden age right next door. I was one of them, writes AMY HOWES

Last week, around 60,000 punters gathered to see what many could consider one of the biggest living bands at Sydney’s ANZ Stadium.

That same night, however, a different kind of fan quietly made their own, distinct way to see who they know as one of the greatest ever – right next door, at the much smaller Qudos Bank Arena.

As a child of the nineties I was obsessed with Take That. Posters plastered every inch of my bedroom walls (and ceilings). I went to several concerts with my older sister.

We waited outside studios, hotels and the gates of Wembley Stadium in London. I inexplicably screamed and cried along with thousands of others, believing I was in love with Mark Owen. Then Robbie Williams. Then Gary Barlow.

I went through a pretty serious Gary phase and even picked him when they released action man looking dolls of themselves. My sister kept her Robbie doll pristine and still in the box, while mine was immediately ripped out.

I’m a real adult now (sort of), but my daughter still plays with that same Gary Barlow doll that lives with my mother in London when we visit, and I love surprising her with the story of my first love.

I was a super fan. But by their standards, I was a lightweight. The madness that surrounded Take That in the ’90s is difficult to understand unless you’ve witnessed it yourself.

Take That was the original boy band – before One Direction, but after The Beatles – that bridged the gap between two vastly different musical eras.

Their success was rooted in a special time in pop culture, where music, media and fandom came together in a unique way, making them pioneers of the boy band phenomenon that would define the decades to come.

To this day, Take That songs are the only songs I can confidently perform word for word at karaoke.

So when I heard they were playing in Sydney there was no doubt I was going to see them.

I convinced my friend Katie to come with me and when we took the train from Central Station to the Olympic Park, the carriages were full of Coldplay fans. Coldplay music blared through the train’s speakers.

It was clear who the City of Sydney felt was the most important event. We knew better, though – and as we all filed out and walked to the neighboring stadiums, it became clear who our tribe was. Namely women over 40 (and quite a few men who were swept along).

With only three original members – Gary, Mark and Howard – still actively touring, their shows cater to a niche, but incredibly dedicated fan base.

The fans who continue to appear on Take That’s tours are largely the same loyal group who supported them through their rise to stardom, their tumultuous breakup in 1996 and their subsequent reunion.

We’ve grown with the band and seeing them perform live isn’t just about hearing old hits like Relight My Fire or Pray – it’s about reconnecting with a part of our youth.

The nineties were a special time. It was an era where boy bands could still exist in a way that felt magical and Take That created an atmosphere of excitement that no one will ever have again.

This desire to reconnect with a simpler time is stronger than ever today, and a band like Take That offers a millennial like me more than just a nostalgic trip down memory lane.

On the night after Trump was re-elected, they offered something more profound: an emotional refuge in a time of increasing uncertainty.

Today’s setup couldn’t be more different. So much smaller, so much more relaxed. No pyrotechnics. No aerial acrobatics. But the emotional bond with their fans remains.

There is now an underlying humor in their performances, as the band members openly acknowledge their age, their heritage and the fact that they are no longer the pop idols who once ruled the charts with relentless energy.

Instead of hiding or denying it, they have embraced their reality. They appreciate the audience that has always been there for them and give us an intimate, nostalgic experience.

That being said; for men in their 50s their dance moves are still 10/10. Even Gary who always had trouble with the moves (bless him) gave it a red hot crack.

I consider myself a music lover. My taste goes way beyond Take That. But it takes a lot of effort to get me to a stadium gig these days.

I’m old, I’m a mother, I’m tired. Usually I just can’t deal with the rush after the gig and the train ride home. But I was fueled by a special love that only other Take That fans would understand.

I sang along to every song and barely looked at my phone once. And when the boys (men) walked into the crowd for a moment, the young superfan in me immediately took over and I moved so quickly to get in with the excitement.

Even my boyfriend was somewhat surprised by my ‘psycho’ behavior.

And as we stormed out of the stadium with that trip home in mind, we also caught everything we needed to hear from Coldplay. A sky full of stars blared and the big fireworks lit up their huge stadium.

I had heard all about it and was very happy that I could walk onto an empty train on time. We got talking to some fellow Take Thaters along the way who told us we looked ‘too cool’ to be Take That fans.

“Here you go,” I said, looking down at my fanny pack — before quickly reminding her, “Take That fans ARE cool.”