Wordsmoker

It hasn’t started yet but the excitement is building like panther-sex. I’ve got the fucking tennis on here, because everyone on the BBC is talking too quickly and being excited like fucking Scouts on too much sugar. I’ve got my mother moaning and twittering like a fucking parakeet about everything, but somehow I want to be here talking about this concert thing. I’m working on her laptop in the lounge, and because today is a holiday here, I’ve done three washings and hung them out because it’s breezy but sunny. Where was I? Yes. The concert. I’m live-blogging it.

It’s 6.50pm. I yearn for quiet.

Andy Murray looks better with short hair. < Comment is not related to concert*

It hasn’t started yet and I don’t care. BBC1 has a countdown clock.

Without doubt, the BBC coverage of this omnishambles has been the worst I’ve ever seen. Like something coming out of North Korea. The enforced joy has permeated the upper echelons at this once venerable organisation – an organisation I love – and dripped down the sides of the building into the most empty of vessels. They appear as if they are on a whole lot of cocaine. Everyone I see on the BBC looks as if they’re doing the most outrageous amount of Class A narcotics. Being in Scotland – where we’re not really into all this – it’s like tuning into a news channel from another country. They share the same language, but the land they hail from seems miles away.

My mother and I have agreed that the man we see on BBC1 IS NOT CALLED TONY.

The band “Madness” are talking to a man. I’m looking forward to seeing them.

Prince Andrew looks like a bloated ex-comedian. No sign of Kate or Pippa’s arses.

The beacons they are lighting look like something out of The Wicker Man. There’s one in Wales with somebody trapped inside it. He’s a virgin, so don’t worry.

Prince Charles arrives with his mistress, now wife. 10 people cheer.

Stevie Wonder is singing Happy Birthday. It’s not a favourite of mine. But he is a true musical genius.

Prince Philip is in the local NHS hospital with a bladder infection. Probably to do with standing for fucking hours in the rain watching little boats going tootling by yesterday.

It’s starting.

Drum rolls. The stage looks fantastic. I’ll look into the tech later.

Robbie Williams kicks it off. He looks fat in his jacket. Mistake.

My mother says he looks like a demented little shit.

Big crowds The Mall. Good stops with what appears to be the entire Household Cavalry.

My mother just called him a tosser and told him to fuck off.

Rob Brydon just made a homosexual joke. Everyone laughed! ESPECIALLY THE ROYALZ.

I don’t know this guy but he’s singing some song I hear on commercial radio when I go into the poor shops.

Jessie J is on with this guy. My mother likes her dress. She’s not got her hair down, with that fringe I love. Mistake.

This guy is off-key. And I am officially old and want soup.

My mother and I are discussing the stage set. It’s got some hot cantilever action going on. I love high tech sets.

It’s a Boy Band. They’ve got serious faces and serious body language and walk together like a bunch of cunts. I don’t know who they are, because I am old, but if you saw the Osmonds years ago, they’re just like that. Whoever they are, they’ve killed the atmosphere with their shitty, over-produced backing tracks. In fact, they’re dying on their arses, these shitsticks. My mother has denounced their “playing with their willies”, I agree. I don’t want to see willies being touched at a Diamond Jubilee Concert, and neither does the Queen.

“Pile of shite” exclaims my mother as they stop.

They were called JLS. Utter shite, my darlings.

Gary Barlow and Cheryl Cole are out of tune. And my mother reports that her “bum is burning but she’s loving it”. She’s got a heated underblanket on her chair which is on at Defcon 3. It’s a sunny day, but she’s got the cold, of course.

Cheryl Cole is way out of tune. And that snare drum sound is beginning to annoy me. I hope they re-mic it.

CRAZY OLD KING GEORGE JOKE.

Cliff Richard is off key too. My mother wants tight trousers banned, because nobody suits them.

His black, female backing dancer is outrageously beautiful.

“I’m bored with you, Cliff – bugger off” – My Mother.

It’s went evangelical and Cliff fucked up the final note. My mother told him to stick his religion up his arse.

CONGRATULATIONS!

You do know that the Queen hasn’t arrived yet? That’s right. She’s doing lines with the BBC backstage,

Honest. She’s not there yet.

Some guy called Lang Lang (his panda-name) is battering the fuck out of Steinway.

BUM NOTE! Even my mother noticed it. Rhapsody in Blue, I think, and some other stuff. I quite like this panda-dude. My mother’s favourite so far. And mine.

Some guy coming to sing opera stuff and does some Elvis with It’s Now or Never. Alfie Bow or something. Sounds good. Someone in tune at last.

THE BBC CANNOT MIX LIVE SOUND FOR SHIT. THE END.

Ruby Turner and Jools Holland sound great. My mother goes to feed a cat.

AND GRACE JONES WINS THE INTERNET WITH HER DRESS. FIRE UP PHOTOSHOP.

Several members of the backing band are laughing at her, or trying to keep their faces straight.

Did I mention that Grace Jones is dressed also in a Hula Hoop? It revolves around her like so much madness. The crowd don’t know what to do. Their is a general air of bemusement. My mother points out Grace’s varicose veins. “A big freaky woman is all she is”, says she.

It’s like something with Julia Roberts’ teeth wearing Magneto’s helmet.

She finished, greeted with equally bemused and polite applause.

I won’t repeat what my mother said as Grace left the stage, slowly slowing down.

Some guy who looks like a young Senor Wences is earnestly playing a guitar now.

My mother says that Young Senor Wences looks about 14. His hair is surely genetically linked to a beautiful redhead across the ocean. YEAH I SAID IT. SENOR WENCES IS TEH BEAUTIFUL.

My mother has worked out that Young Senor Wences’ song is about crackhead angels or something.

Annie Lennox now. Be still my groin. She’s got angel wings and silver lamé elbow gloves. I think she’s won a bet. Everybody appears to have wings. She’s got a stunning voice. And arse.

My mother was not a fan of the angel wings. Let me just say that.

Some opera chick, then TOM JONES. START THE PARTY.

The sound mix is fucking awful. They had about 10 minutes to mic the brass section properly. But no. Totally fucked up when they came in and blew even Tom Jones away. I actually exclaimed out loud.

TOM JONES IS FUCKING AWESOME. EVEN MY MOTHER AGREES. SHE HAS LOVE FOR THAT OLD SILVERFOX.

The Queen has finally turned up, coked off her tits. She’s wearing a cloak, like Darth Vader. The helmet comes later in a painful surgical procedure, live on BBC 2.

Robbie Williams again. He’s singing Mack The Knife and my mother is listening.

She actually enjoyed that, as much as she hates to admit it. She said “he should do more stuff like that”. I pointed out that he’d released an album of swing classics about 7 years ago. She expressed surprise.

Now some song for the Queen. It’s not that hot. But there”s a lot of people on the stage in varying states of posh dress. Andrew Lloyd Webber is seated at a piano like a fucking hobgoblin. I’m not joking. Both us exclaimed some swear-words at his hobgoblinish appearance. Truly a frightening moment. For viewers as well. This is going out to billions around the Commonwealth, and surely the planet shifted on its axis as a large portion of humanity recoiled in horror.

Another joke about homosexuality. All the theatre people laughed.

Shirley Bassey sings a Bond Number.

Kylie appears dressed like a Pearly Queen. With no pants. It’s a good look.

Kylie was great. I love her and want to take care of her.

Some West Side Story. TV gets turned down to 17, then 28. My mother hates it.

Henry sneezes one of his little dog sneezes, even though he’s a cat. My mother declares it as more musical than West Side fucking Story.

Elton John, sounding rough actually. His jacket is sublime. Roseanne Barr is one of his backing singers. He’s also got someone from The Matrix in his backing band. The sound – of course – is fucking awful.

Elton’s voice was just warming up, and he hit his stride on the second number. Pretty good fucking show he puts on, does Elton.

The Queen looks knackered.

Irony? There’s a Queen Doing Stuff Montage on Buckingham Palace and the backing track (played awfully, like a synth mixed to calm sexual urges) of U2′s Beautiful Day. Who are an Irish band. From the part of Ireland that doesn’t belong to the Queen.

I just note these things.

No sign of Diana in all that footage.

Stevie Wonder now. Excuse me while I actually watch this for a change.