By Sue Wilkinson
I鈥檇 rather embroider my ears shut then listen to any individual or band that take to any stage, any year, at Glastonbury. I would not cross the road to see Pulp, have never heard of most of them, let alone listened to them. Except the 鈥楲egends鈥 spot. I have screamed belters with Shirley Bassey, shouted 鈥楾hat don鈥檛 impress me much鈥 with Shania Twain and cursed Ruby and Lucille with Kenny Rogers. I would cross the Rubicon with Julius Caesar to see Sir Rod Stewart sing one song, let alone a 75-minute set which, by his standards, was short by at least 15 minutes. Grabbing the hairbrush, I switched on BBC One on Sunday, stood in front of my TV and from the first sound of bagpipes to the closing nautical salute, I sang-along to every number and embraced every single, glorious second of Sir Rod鈥檚 hit-filled set. Maggie May, You Wear it Well, Baby Jane, Tonight鈥檚 the Night, Forever Young, The First Cut is the Deepest, I Don鈥檛 Want to Talk About It 鈥 he went through his songbook as fast as he could but never appeared rushed. He gave the punters what they had come for 鈥 to see him perform their favourites. With his Small Faces pal Ronnie Wood 鈥 a giant of guitar heroes 鈥 he tore up the stage with Stay With Me; he brought on Mike Hucknall for a voice-quivering If You Don鈥檛 Know Me By Now and strutted with Lulu to Hot Legs. His joy in their company reached from the stage to my front room. He was surrounded by 鈥榣adies in red鈥 providing fabulous musicianship and vocals. It is not just about the songs 鈥 it鈥檚 about the flamboyant yet elegant, well-cut suits 鈥 for Glastonbury neon green and pink 鈥 the bling and the blonde spiky haircut. He wears it all well and his distinctive voice 鈥 like a car running over gravel 鈥 sounded as rough as ever it has. 鈥楧a Ya Think I鈥檓 Sexy?鈥 he asks. Indeed, I do. He has lost none of his strut, swagger and sway. He pouts and preens, blows kisses, winks and smiles knowingly and throws the microphone round like a baton. He knows that鈥檚 what we want to see. If he had turned up in jeans, T-shirt and trainers and stood still at the mic mumbling his hits, it would have been a disappointment on the scale of England losing the Euros final. Sir Rod has never shied away from publicity. He has shared the highs and lows of his, let鈥檚 say, colourful life. His openness gives his music more resonance. He did not have time for chit chat and neither was it necessary. Everyone knows he wrote You鈥檙e In My Heart, You鈥檙e In My Soul for one of his former lovers, Britt Ekland, and supports Celtic. He wears his heart on his sleeve in every love song he delivers and his national pride beams out of him. Despite his wealth and lifestyle, he remains relatable. Age and experience has earned him the right to express his opinion 鈥 he is not asking us to agree or take up cudgels on his say so. As he took his final bow after the crowd-pleaser to end all crowd-pleasers, I am Sailing, I screamed at the telly: 鈥淔ollow that, Glastonbury. Sir Rod鈥檚 the greatest showman.鈥