(In which Meg inexplicably gets VIP tickets to see Madonna at Earl’s Court)
The girls behind us knew all the words to all the songs - or at least they knew the remix lyrics. Specifically, the oi-OI remix, of which I was not previously aware.
You know how on celebrity impersonation show Stars in Their Eyes the audience seems to have been specially primed to spontaneously burst into gushing applause after the first line of each pseud’s rendition?
“Why do birds suddenly appear…” [applause]
“Oh, oh my love…” [applause]
“Lover, I’m on the streets..” [applause]
It’s so predictable, and so empty. Well, whichever clever stage manager dreamed up that dreary ruse was clearly also responsible for the oi-OI remix of Madonna songs I experienced last night - and which was probably only released in the home counties (because I can’t imagine it working in a different accent).
The arrangement went something like this: Madge sings the first line of any song in her oevre. The cheap-smelling girls behind, all bleached blonde hair, one-armed tit tops and sequinned hats, at the end of this first line, all yelled enthusiastically in unison and in my right ear “oi-OI!”
“Hey mister deejay, put a record on…” [”oi-OI!“]
“Last night I dreamt of San Pedro…” [”oi-OI!“]
“You only see what your eyes want to see…” [”oi-OI!“]
“Zephyr in the sky at night I wonder…” [”oi-OI!“]
Most tiresome, I can assure you. Very occasionally, for variety’s sake, during quiet moments they would also yell out “come on Madonna!” as if she were even vaguely likely to hop off the stage, amble over in her chaps and stetson and drawl “nyars?” I’d love to have seen their puckered over-made-up faces then, jaws smashing on the ground.
But on second thoughts, perhaps not. Why? Because weirdly, I know exactly what these girls were likely to do when confronted with celebrity in any close personal form: scream, shout, kiss them and then go back to their seats and discuss it with their little friends for hours. And hours. And hours.
“My goodness. That’s very astute of you, Meg,” I hear you say, “How is it that you can make such a detailed character assessment just from their persistant shrieking over two hours?”
Well, it’s quite simple. I know this is how they would behave because this is exactly what happened when one of them (pink sequinned cowboy hat, one-shoulder destiny’s whores spangly top, reeking of fake Issy Miyake) bumped into Spice Girl Emma Bunton during the concert, out by the loos. When she got back to her seat, she regaled the others in a LOUD voice about exactly what had happened.
No matter that Madge was sitting up there on stage not fifteen metres away, perched on a futuristic hay-bale (it looked like customs-impounded cannabis, all wrapped up in cellophane) crooning away gently about love.
No matter that I (and the thirteen thousand others there) had bizarrely, actually come to see Madonna and not, amazingly, some cheap wannabe slapper with knock-off fashion sense and a bargain basement accent. Or, indeed, Emma Bunton.
After a good twenty minutes, I span around.
“Who did you see out by the loo? Oh my god! Emma Bunton! Wow! Hang on a minute..”
I turned towards the stage.
“Madonna, could you shut up a second here? These girls just bumped into Emma Bunton by the bogs - yes! Emma Bunton! I know! Incredible!”
The girls pouted and looked unimpressed. I explained that I was actually a lot more interested in what was going on on stage than what had happened out by the bogs - unless, of course, Madonna had nipped out for a coke fix and to pop another sprog during a costume change - so could they please Shut. The fuck. Up?
Then I told them I’d seen Geri Halliwell over by the coke machine. They legged it off in the direction of the foyer, trailing sequins and leaving a trace of cheap perfume in their wake.
My favourite quote of the entire evening: twenty-something girl on her mobile in the queue to get out - “…and then in the middle of the western bit, she mounted a cow!”
