By Jovi

Was coerced into going to see the Jon By Jovi Experience at the Princess Pavilion last night. At the same time, was also quite possibly suffering from mild concussion, having opened a door onto my head earlier in the day - although it might be suggested that blurred vision and dizziness were optimum viewing conditions. Billed as having an uncanny likeness to the man himself, I was therefore unprepared for the sheer level of campness he radiated. Complete with drag-queen-esque shimmy, it was like Jon Bon Jovi had been abducted by aliens who'd transmogrified him into Jon Bon Ladyboy.

Now it's entirely possible that this is a sign I'm getting old, or possibly a side effect of trying to walk through a closed door, but the music was so loud it was physically painful. Trying to stick it out to an interval that never came, I realised it was time to make an escape when it dawned on me that I was tensed in a miserable ball at the back with a finger in my ear feeling sick. I'm told they actually adjusted the levels to be more bearable shortly after this, but I was gone.

As a probable emphasis to the 'getting too old' thing, I far preferred the jazz band that were playing for free (actually we had free tickets to the paying show too) in the outer precinct. The veranda is newly reconstructed (no more danger of romantically tumbling sherds of glass), the flowerbeds are beautifully stocked, and the kind of music floating out over them made you feel the likes of Miss Marple or Bertie Wooster could be sitting at the next table.

As a last (or, technically, first) example of the evening's musical mix, on our way to the show we encountered a group of line dancers looking a bit self-conscious and shuffly outside the Clipper Way. You've not really experienced it in all its glory, I feel, till you've heard the steps called
across a pub car park in a broad Cornish accent.