I GUESS it’s natural for us to feel jittery in public places right now.

I wasn’t the only one feeling a little nervous approaching the Old Trafford cricket ground on Sunday afternoon for the One Love Manchester concert. It was an event that captured the city’s unity and defiance in the face of terrorism, and I felt proud to be in the happy throng of thousands - but with a helicopter constantly circling above, I had the jitters during the three-hour show.

The previous evening’s terror attacks in London had heightened everyone’s senses, and of course last month’s suicide bomb at Manchester Arena was very much in our thoughts as we made our way to the benefit concert for victims and their families. Of course I was looking forward to the show, and to paying tribute to those affected by the atrocity - I was there with my teenage niece and her cousin, who had both been at that Arena concert and were determined to attend the benefit gig. Their mums were there on Sunday too, along with many parents joining in the fun while keeping a close eye on their youngsters.

I couldn’t, however, shake off a nagging melancholy. There are times when we realise we can’t take life for granted, and that has been on my mind over the past two weeks. Twenty-two people, mostly children and teenagers, went to a pop concert in Manchester on May 22 and never came home, because someone strapped himself to a bomb. Seven people enjoying a night out in London at the weekend lost their lives to three men who came out of nowhere, armed with knives. Life felt very fragile as I joined the crowds pouring into the cricket ground on Sunday.

But soon I was struck by an undeniable sense of togetherness and goodwill. “Spread the love,” someone said, handing out badges bearing the word we saw and heard a lot that day - “Love”. Stewards and security staff were friendly and welcoming; despite the stringent safety measures dominating the organisation of such an event, a great effort was being made to keep the atmosphere relaxed and fun.

Everywhere we looked people were wearing One Love Manchester T-shirts and #WeStandTogether stickers. Some kids had “I heart MCR” painted on their faces. Volunteers from the Manchester Emergency Fund and the Red Cross chatted as they shook buckets. Stewards in high-vis tabards clapped and danced. And as the concert got underway, following a minute’s silence, the crowd of 50,000 swelled with pride.

There were moments when I felt a world away from the young folk - mainly during the piercing screams for Justin Bieber - and we had to rely on the girls to tell us who “Scooter” in the baseball cap was (Ariana’s manager Scooter Braun, who spoke movingly of visiting a children’s hospital). Then there was the young girl behind me who said, after Liam Gallagher’s rousing set, “I don’t know who he is. My dad probably does.”

But it was a great night, with moments to cherish. Ariana thrilled fans with the songs she promised the mother of 15-year-old Olivia Campbell-Hardy she would sing, and, movingly, she praised the crowd’s defiance. By the end of the show, life didn't feel so fragile. It felt like something to be celebrated.

I was inspired most of all by the fabulous youngsters around us, belting out songs and holding up heart-shaped hands and "No Fear" signs.

We can learn a lot from those kids; buzzing with hope and a lust for life - and the young woman who walked onto a stage for the first time since last month’s terror attack and, with dignity, sang her heart out for the young fans who lost their lives.

* BRADFORD gets a lot of stick - mostly from people living in the district.

I wonder if any of them have bothered to visit Cartwright Hall lately, and the stunning Splendours of the Subcontinent exhibition.

The gallery is the first venue in the UK to host the Royal Collection's tour of exquisite Indian design and craftsmanship. On display are 70 works of art presented to Prince Albert Edward, Queen Victoria's eldest son, during his 1875 Indian tour.

Each treasure, from a jewel-encrusted 'turban crown' to an intricate model of a Jaipur house filled with extraordinary detail, tells a story of his visit.

The Prince arranged for the splendours to tour so the public could see them. I'd urge anyone who hasn't yet to get to this exhibition before it leaves town on June 18. It's an absolute treat.

* WHEN I was at primary school an election meant a day off, as the school became a polling station.

There's something very grassroots about us turning out in schools, community centres and church halls today to place a cross on a piece of paper. Once they become polling stations, these ordinary venues suddenly seem formal and daunting, particularly for first-time voters.

When I go to vote it still feels a bit like walking into an exam hall. I start to doubt everything I think I know. "Definitely a cross - not a tick?" I start to think, taking the pencil to my ballot slip.

What we do with those slips of paper, and the counting of them by human hand, determines how we live. As daunting as it seems, it's democracy.