The answers to some little questions are hugely revealing. We pass it off as small talk, but asking about somebody’s first anything often reveals all you need to know about who they are today and why. If only I’d understood the implications of buying Wig Wam Bam by Black Lace as my debut music purchase – had known it would shape so many future interactions and realised how ridiculous you feel simply saying those words, even to those too young or cool to be familiar with the full sonic horror.

So, to halt generational trauma, when the opportunity came to supply my son with the dream reply to “What was your first concert?” I took him to Harry Styles at Wembley during a thermometer-shattering heatwave.

Disclaimer: I knew it would be good. I was also well aware that, as my 11-year-old and I are Styles fans, attending with him would be significant and lovely. What I wasn’t expecting was what transpired: an almost religious experience. This gig has altered my physiology, changed my DNA. My life is henceforth divided – BH and AH – and I could not be more surprised about it.

It’s difficult to explain how unlikely a candidate I am for this to have happened to, especially in extreme weather. Terrible in challenging circumstances, I have negative blitz spirit. I’m not a keep-calm-and-carry-on-er – I’m a moaner, a complainer, a whinger. I’m also a cynic and a misanthrope; I hate crowds, big events, joining in, enforced fun. Even when I’ve been looking forward to something, I’m always thrilled if it’s cancelled, or wonder how soon I can leave while I’m there. But at the end of this concert, if Styles had offered to do it all over again from the beginning, I would have said: “Yes, please – perhaps twice, if that’s OK?”

There’s so much about what took place that on paper would have me rolling my eyes and dry heaving. For example, when he arrived on stage, Styles said: “Good evening, my name is Harry.” Doesn’t that sound ludicrous? Like, we know your name. But in person? Charming! Humble! Wholesome!

A song called Treat People with Kindness? In theory: yuck. In reality: belting it out with 89,999 other believers healed something in me. The planet may be on fire, metaphorically and literally, but here was a sweaty slice of hope. The temperature was hell, yet the evening was heaven.

Styles has been performing in stadiums for 16 years, never mind the 10 nights in Amsterdam before this one, the halfway point of his 12 Wembley gigs. However, the enthusiasm, joy and vitality he brought to the stage could have convinced an under-rock-dweller this was his inaugural show.

“We’re going to look after each other. Please try and stay hydrated. If you need anything at any point, please let me know – we can stop at any time,” he said, which might have sounded like an empty promise if he hadn’t done exactly that a few nights before, after noticing in the crowd a distraught girl who had become separated from her sister.

I will never forget my son’s face when he saw the first pop star he has ever truly loved right in front of him. He grabbed my hand and squeezed harder than any labouring mum-to-be, practically unable to comprehend that this mythical creature is real, exists, walks – struts, twirls, dances, sings – among us. It was pure magic.

I’ve been to big concerts before, but this was different. Special. Profound. The hold, energy and influence this man has are extraordinary and emotional to witness, mostly because he appears genuinely to be using his power for good. To spread messages of inclusivity, compassion, unity, acceptance, self-expression, vulnerability, respect – all delivered with a grin and twinkle in his eye, thus deftly swerving piousness. As role models for preteen sons go, not too shabby.

There isn’t a simple, instant cure for the world’s ills. Nobody can accomplish that, not even Styles. But after seeing him, instead of feeling depressed, powerless and doomed, I have a song in my heart, a spring in my step and faith that “maybe we can treat people with kindness and find a place to feel good”.