Elt-un! Elt-un!

It seems being middle aged was the theme of this weekend. Me and Toblarina went to see Elton John, Joan Dairy Queen went to a stately home and Stephenandgerald … well, they sat in the pub playing cards like a pair of old giffers.

Elton put on a fine show, but to some degree was fighting a losing battle right from the start, given the nature of the venue. I used the think that nowhere could match Wembley for it’s complete lack of atmosphere, that’s because I’d never been to a gig at Charlton Athletic before. Even the very front row was a short bus ride away from the stage, and there was acres of empty space being wasted down on the pitch area. The sun seemed to be following Elton’s request of not going down on him, so broad daylight was maintained throughout the show, meaning there was no level of intimacy achieved what so ever.

From where we were in the lower west gallery, old Elt was nowt more than a dot on the horizon, so gawd knows what it was like for the poor buggers at the back. Mostly we just watched him on the big tellys next to the stage.

But that aside, the performance was faultless. He put on what was basically a greatest hits package - opening with Benny and the Jets he treated us, amongst others, to Tiny Dancer, Daniel, Your Song, The Bitch is Back … our cries for Honky Cat were sadly not loud enough to reach the stage.

He was looking dapper in a black suit with tails and we also took a shine to his drummer. He was sporting a very pleasing pink shirt and was always ready with a smile and a wink for the cameras.

When we got bored with watching Elton we had fun appreciating some of the more eccentric members of the audience – namely a young girl with a fierce talent for head banging and jumping around, and our special favourite; an odd looking dwarf who took to dancing in the centre of the arena facing the complete opposite direction to the stage.

He played for 2 hours 15 minutes and we would happily have stayed for more - it’s not often you get to witness a legend. But it was off to the joys of public transport and the tiresome journey home.

I might write him a letter and ask him to play Crystal Palace next time.