I was feeling ill. My whole body ached and shivered as I climbed into bed. I hadn’t been sleeping very well, and I had planned on an early night. I’d just pulled the duvet over my head when I realised it was the date of Toots and the Maytals. I sighed, crawled out from my duvet and pulled on my shoes.

I’d heard he was still good but I had my doubts. He was old, and I was under the weather. He might still be able to sing, but I kept imagining him standing motionless on stage, me standing motionless in the crowd, and as our eyes meet, we’re both struck with an acute shame at the insincerity of our actions, neither of us wanting to be there.

I waited in the tiny venue, grateful for the crowds’ clammy warmth. The support band didn’t do anything to allay my suspicions. As the balding, middle-aged seven-piece clowned around doing cockney dances, I started to panic and sweat. I hung my head and closed my eyes. I’m not sure how long I stood like this, the minutes multiplying and fusing together around me. I was just about to start weeping, when the crowd exploded into a frenzy of excitement. I looked up.

The Maytals were playing, and Toots had just walked onstage. He was dressed like a Hell’s Angel, wearing black leather trousers, a black leather waistcoat, a black bandana and sunglasses. He grinned, snatched the microphone and held it to his mouth. The sound was quiet at first, but as soon as it left his lips I was cured: “Mmm mmm mmm, yeah.” It was ‘Pressure Drop’. A brilliant light enveloped me, stealing away my troubles and gently forgiving me for doubting the master.

He was starting the show with one of his biggest hits, which I thought he’d end with. It was a brave move – if he kept this pace going, surely he’d run out of popular material. But the more I thought about it, the more I realised that Toots only has hits. Since allegedly coining the word ‘reggae’ in the 60’s (in the song ‘Do The Reggay’), Toots and The Maytals have been an unstoppable, hit-making factory.

The Maytals didn’t just play all their best songs, but they played them as if the songs had only just been written. Toots spun, jumped and skanked his way through the set, his smile never wavering. He refused to slow down, to succumb to fatigue, captivating the audience with his enthusiasm. To my surprise, he even played guitar for ‘Funky Kingston’ and ‘Bam Bam’, and played it expertly, striking poses in between riffs. At one point, just as Toots decided he’d like to play harmonica for a song, someone next to me exclaimed in horror: “he can do everything!”

Toots Hibbert can do everything. He is sixty-five, and can do anything better than anyone. The highlight of the show was ‘Never Grow Old’, a song from The Maytals’ debut album of the same name. In front of us stood a young man boasting of his immortality. It was like he had written the song about this moment after forseeing it in a dream.

Toots has never grown old. His voice is still reminiscent of Otis Redding’s, his dancing is more impressive than Michael Jackson’s, and the only person I’ve seen with crowd interaction skills as good as his is Bruce Springsteen. A steady diet of reggae and happiness has given him magical powers, and he kindly agreed to share some of those powers with us last night. By the time I left the venue, my symptoms had disappeared. Every atom in my body was charged with good vibrations, and I was no longer ill.