If you'd told me 18 years ago when Neighbours first hit our TV screens that I'd one day spend a Saturday evening being entertained by a certain small squeaky actress, I don't think I'd have believed you. But when someone offers you a ticket to attend her latest £5m greatest hits spectacular, you don't turn it down. And one thing's for certain - nobody makes a song and dance like Kylie.
The main hall at Earls Court was packed out, as you might expect, and as it will be for the next seven nights. About half of the audience were twenty- or thirty-something couples, while the remainder was split almost equally between families, girls on a night out and boys on a night out. I'll gloss over the support act (thoroughly competent but spark-free Scandinavian soft rockers) and I'll try not to moan about the cost of a programme (fifteen quid? fifteen quid!) (not that I actually bought one, you understand). I was also rather concerned to be sitting quite so far back from the stage (I counted 94 rows of seating in front of me) which surely wouldn't be a good thing when the show's main star was so well-known for being diminuitive, but thankfully the Showgirl tour turned out to be much larger than life.
Enter Kylie, to rapturous applause, emerging from a sparkling hi-tech set backed by a parade of winged dancers to the strains of Better The Devil You Know. You've never seen so many feathers in your life, except perhaps on a flock of birds, and an ornithologist might easily have mistaken Ms Minogue for a blue and white ostrich. It was soon clear that we were to be treated to a cavalcade of two decades of hits, cunningly segued together, and divided into distinct sets each with a spectacular visual interpretation. After the strutting opening it was a quick change and off down the disco for Spinning Around (et al), then yet another costume for the more measured, balletic section (Confide In Me etc). The bump and grind of Red Blooded Woman was accompanied by some gym locker room action, and the scarcely-clad muscled dancers had all the women in the audience (and half the men) perched on the edge of their seats.
High camp as Kylie rose into the sky on a silvery moon to sing Over The Rainbow, and then some Busby Berkeley style choreography as I Believe In You was played out atop what looked like a rotating wedding cake. All the old Stock Aitken and Waterman favourites were squeezed in, sometimes disguised as modern reworkings, but a traditional I Should Be So Lucky brought the house down. I suddenly realised that if I were ever to be asked onto Desert Island Discs I might select this particular debut single as one of my record choices, so it's probably just as well that Sue Lawley will never send me an invite. Into the space age finale with the shimmering Can't Get You Out Of My Head (does anyone deserve to have recorded so many utter classics?) and then right back down to earth for the encore. Kylie wandered out for a professional chat with the audience before inviting us to pretend to be Jason Donovan and duet with her in Especially For You. We obliged. And finally we were sent on our way smiling with Love At First Sight, no less than the 26th track performed in precisely two hours flat. It may not have been high art, but for sheer singalong spectacle and professionalism it was unbeatable. Je ne sais pas pourquoi.
