The Show Must Go On

I wouldn't say I'm the world's greatest Queen fan, but they have their moments, and Little Cousin and her Not-So-Little New Boyfriend had some spare tickets, and anyway, Peter Kay was the special guest.

Razorlight, supporting, were fairly good, although the lead singer seemed to have a bit of a Jim Morrison thing going on - same haircut, almost naked and quite possibly stoned. Peter Kay was simply wonderful: he came in as Brian Potter and sang "Wind Beneath My Wheels" (watch the show) and in doing so split the entirety of Hyde Park into two groups: those who had watched "Phoenix Nights" and those who were looking on in total bemusement.

As for Queen, well, they were sensational. Brian May looks like what he is - a middle-aged bloke with a Physics degree and daft hair - but isn't that what makes him cool? How wonderful that someone who used to teach astronomy and whose hair matches that of his wife can be revered as one of the world's greatest rock stars. It really does restore your confidence in the Western World which so often disappoints me in its tastes or lack thereof.

It was a strange atmosphere: the concert had been postponed from last Friday because of the London bombs, and they had released 6,000 tickets for emergency workers to come and see the show. This had also introduced a great marketing opportunity and hundreds of t-shirts that had clearly been printed before last Thursday with the original date had been hurriedly stamped with "The Show Must Go On!" and were being flogged as "Limited Editions" for double the normal price from a tent by the gates. Brian May admitted that he couldn't think of anything to say so instead they played a really good version of "Imagine" as a response to the attacks, and whatever you think of the song, 85,000 people singing it sends your spine tingling. I was pleased that they didn't just play all the corny Queen hits you usually get at the end of crap wedding discos - "Radio Ga Ga" and "Fat Bottomed Girls" was there, but not a "Don't Stop Me Now" in sight. Instead they played "Love of My Life" which is one of the prettiest songs ever written, before Brian May launched into a long, frenetic solo that went on for fifteen minutes or so and didn't seem to have a tangible beginning, middle or end. Best of all, though, was the finale. You can place bets on the fact that they will play "We are the Champions", but you wouldn't necessarily expect them to dedicate it to members of the emmergency services, London transport staff and medical staff, and show their pictures on the big screen while they were singing it. The concert wasn't about Queen, it was about them, and you got the feeling that Queen were really proud of that. Maybe this is how everyone felt singing along to Vera Lynn just as the war was ending, but the whole of Hyde Park was thinking, thank God, we're here, we're ok. And we're great. Yes, it's corny, but maybe it helped.

If you ever get a chance to see Queen (and I apologise unreservedly for shaming Joe Strummer's memory here) it's worth it. While I jumped up and down and irreversibly damaged my eardrums and vocal cords, Cousin and Boyfriend canoodled throughout and the other person I was with clapped politely at the end of each song as though he was at a cricket match. I think we all had fun.