It appears I may have misled you. Also perhaps myself, after banging on so vigorously about white tie scene yesterday in car on way to Wembley. Like so much in that location, it never happened. Spent three hours tying two versions in marcella. Black and white. Cometh the hour, the boy didn't feel comfortable and pulled out at the last minute, as is the Catholic twain.
Shame as looked properly slick, but if you ain't feeling it, you ain't feeling it, and in front of 10 thousand, you've gotta be feeling it. Will stop going on about stuff on the telly now for some time. Resuming normal pony service.
PS. Will do Style Referee later, honestly.
PPS. What is the deal with bloody Coldplay? They're complete shite, except found self in an ocean of Coldplay loving mediocrity. For a moment I was cajoled into wearing one of these silly lighting up wristbands. Then Martin came on and made such an earnest, earthy and wholesome little speech I vomited down my Prada (metaphorically) and snapped back to reality. I hung it (symbolically) on an empty bottle of water that got kicked into some cables by a stage hand, (symbolically/literally).
When the place went mad for the 'Play, I went to a lonely, serene place (spiritually) a good eight miles away from the dreadful musical spectacle. So, so mediocre, yet so enthralled were the crowd. Wow. Makes you remember why you didn't subscribe to this all a long time ago. I don't even think he can sing. That awful tone. Those preposterous moves. What a cock. What dreadful clothes too. 'Ah, but he's so normal' says everyone. Which is why he's a cock. Hate normal pop stars.