There's a hairline fracture appearing on my bladder. It's full
of margarita and the nearest loo is in a neighbouring county, but I
don't care. I'm in Hyde Park with everyone else on the planet
waiting to see the Queen of Pop. In fact we're in 'The Golden
Circle', which could be more accurately described as a play pen
full of gays - complete with wood chip on the floor.
Her Madge comes on fashionably late but looking fantastic toting
an AK47 and some bad-ass attitude. The first section of the show is
very dark. It mainly consists of Madonna shooting people and their
splattered brains appearing on the big screen. There's a lot of
talk of shooting an ex in the head and being absolutely justified.
(Note to Guy Ritchie: fashion some bullet proof headware).
After an energetic start, including my personal favourite Papa
Don't Preach, Madonna leaves stage right. In her absence we're
entertained by a few very bendy gents. There's a collective
"blergh" as 65,000 people simultaneously boke at the sight of one
bloke's double jointed arms moves.
Then she's back with another song from her new album, "Come on
London let me hear you sing." I turn to my girlfriend dismayed and
mouth, "I don't know the words." If you woke me in the middle of
the night, spun me round a hundred times, and ordered me to repeat
the lyrics to Get into The Groove backwards I could do this. But I
must confess, I don't really know MDMA as well.
At this point Madonna bends down and squeezes a fan's hand - hard.
He'll probably never play the piano again.
The second half is much more upbeat as Madonna appears clad in a
cheeky cheerleader outfit for her hit song LUV Madonna. We hurtle
head long into Express Yourself, where she mixes in Born this Way,
possibly to draw attention to the fact it's quite
It wouldn't be a Madonna
concert without some mention of making the world a better place.
This time it's introduced via a Catalan phrase which she informs us
means 'smashing apples'. In a link that would make Lorraine Kelly
proud she then goes on to encourage us all to smash prejudices and
judgements (cue mass applause from the non-judgemental Golden
Circle). I'm having a flash back to Wembley, the American Life
tour, and 12,000 people all stampeding to the toilet as Madonna
struck up 'Imagine'. The original Material Girl, and owner of
Gloucestershire, imploring us to 'imagine no possessions' didn't
I look at my watch. It's 9.46, and there hasn't been a sniff of a
nipple. It's also started to rain. It would be a slippery nipple at
this point. Madonna tells us we can stop the rain if we all put our
minds to it. I believe her. Soon after that it stops raining.
Vogue reminds me why I fell for this woman in the first place. I
had an Athena poster of her on my wall when I was a teenager. She
was wearing a suit and monocle. My mother disliked this poster
immensely. I still love that pinstripe suit - and the tie. She's
segeways into a little suggestion of lez action with some ladies
during, 'Candy shop'. In fact I'm starting to think this 'Candy
Shop' might be a metaphor. Make no mistake her sugar is
All the time snippets of genius are interwoven. We hear the
strains of Justify my Love and Erotic and remember they were
actually great pop songs.
It's 10pm and still no sign of a nipple, just the words 'no fear'
written on her back and a flash of her arse in fishnet.
The rain is back as she sings a VERY SLOW rendition of Like a
Virgin - in her bra. The arrangement really works, but all I can
think is, "She'll catch her death out there". She crawls around the
stage and I imagine that's how I'll get home; all this standing on
uneven wood chip is playing havoc with my hips.
Then there are a few new hits including a good one that's got a
Buddhist vibe. She's playing along with a rock and roll guitar.
It's like Boy George's Bow Down Mister meets Elvis's Hound dog.
What would that be? Bow-Wow Down Mister? The song ends and lo,
Madonna is reborn - again!
When the opening of Like a Prayer begins Madonna is alone on
stage, but then the doors open to reveal an X-Factor-esque massive
choir behind her. It's awesome. "That's cheating" I say to my
girlfriend, "Simon, obviously wants her to win."
Finally, it's the song of the night: Celebration. She's
back, this time in full street dance outfit and accompanied by her
son Rocco. She appears to be wearing mis-matching converse. Is this
a thing now? Her dancing is something to behold, even in odd
The night is over all too quickly. The show has been a real
spectacle. Madonna disappears into the ground - probably to a
waiting oxygen bubble filled with alfalfa for her to graze on -
leaving us 60,000 less fortunate to shuffle slowly through the eye
of a needle.
Her parting shot to the crowd is "Thank you very fucking much."
That's one thing I love about Madonna: she's so polite.
Why not follow The Rubbish Lesbian on Twitter, where she is
known as: @rubbishles