I found my rock shirts and took my almost-beach-ready derriere to The Killers concert in Johannesburg last weekend. A concert always makes one feel alive, and when one feels alive, one wants to get their horn on.

Everyone jumps around getting sweaty, all stuffed into one place, whilst consuming their favourite music. Live. People get down at concerts. And groupies want to tear Brandon Flowers? waistcoat off. Hell, they?d probably settle in for a night of inanimate, safe shagging with his guitar. One thing?s for sure: rock stars make females crazy.

Female fans who run across the country for a man who has thongs thrown in his face, and who wears pleather skinnies. I?ve always wondered about that myself. Yes, the music speaks to us, and yes, under that rough, tattoo-laden exterior, lies a sweet little marshmallow who has had his heart broken. ...Seriously?

The problem with rock stars, or any musician for that matter ? let's even include the DJ of the glow-stick generation residing in Ibiza, ? is that their songs are made to lure a certain kind of woman. Perhaps not even purposefully, but with lyrics like ?She takes off her dress now... I just can't look it's killing me, the dude is going to crush her little heart. He has to, he's a rock star.

Woe betide the female who likes to tame a man. Sometimes all it takes is a strong woman to break him, pardon me, bring a man with 20 MySpace pages to his knees. Yoko Ono made John Lennon her soul mate, and bless them. Their relationship must?ve been somewhat spicy given the nude hippie centerfolds they did. Not that John Lennon was your average bad boy rocker, even if he did claim he was bigger than Jesus.

Finding a rock star to be the love of your life, even if it did sprout from a groupie situation involving a back seat and a bottle of Jack Daniels, surely can?t be healthy. For one, the man is full of angst. And like it or not, you aren?t the only bird to have discovered the horizontalisation of the bucket seats of his 5 Series BMW, even if you are his 'biggest fan ever'.

It worked for Sharon Osborne. But she doesn?t strike me as your average groupie, and besides, with her dirty vocabulary, I?m thinking it was lockdown from the moment Ozzy had a sober conversation with her. Now that Ozzy is semi-retarded, her unfailing loyalty to her husband has paid off.

It works for Pamela Anderson some of the time. Which makes her probably the greatest groupie of all time. Her husband may not utter a string of profanities in a catatonic stupor, but she is everything a solid groupie woman ought to be. She?s hot. She had her lips done, and her boobs made it to ten Playboy covers in a space of 15 years. She also made a sex tape with Tommy Lee, her on-again/off-again husband, on a boat.

They throw things at each other when they fight. Tommy will pull his package out at any given occasion, and Pamela will giggle, wave her hand and say, "Oh isn?t he adorable? He?s so crazy." She'll say the same thing when he smashes a guitar over a drum set. And she'll even remarry him in a bikini. Now that's a groupie.

Most women won't stay in it for the long haul, and why would they? Bedding a rock star is one thing, you really don't need to have romantic dinners with them thereafter. So kudos to the women who get to meet them, touch their naked skin, and then put up with their angst for the rest of eternity. Or die trying.

I think it might be safer to go the Trudie Styler route. And marry Sting. A guy who runs around in hemp trousers and takes leave for days of tantric sex. But where's the fun in that?