Club Class, and classless clubbing.

Well, a big hola to you all from Barcelona on my first afternoon in this lovely city. I'm taking it easy today after a late night (is there any other sort in Spain, I hear you cry...) which saw Matthew and me up to our hips in foam, throwing shapes to Kylie at a fiesta de espuma in one of the clubs (I couldn't tell you which one they're all so similar; it's ten years since I first visited Barcelona and the scene is still practically unchanged!) Classy it was not; the one pair of jeans I packed is ruined, and much of my skin is dyed indigo blue, but it was a hoot and a half and a great way to start my visit.

The absolute highlight so far though was my trip out: I could get very, very used to flying Club class. The dedicated check-in desks; the roomy, peaceful lounge with booze on tap and freebies galore; boarding and disembarking the plane first; real glass to drink champers from (which was topped up throughout the flight by the lovely gay trolley dolly who also slipped me two miniature bottles of Pommery to take with me!); proper food, extra legroom...definitely worth every extra penny, but if I'm going to stick to anything like my budget for this travelling lark I'm going to have to be very strict about going economy with Club as an occasional treat.

Tonight we're going for dinner at a friend of Matthew's, so I'll get to put faces to the names of the various chums and chumesses he's spoken of over the years he's been here. He doesn't seem very happy at the moment but I think that's homesickness more than anything; hopefully I can put a smile back on his face or at least have fun trying! I'm already missing Alyn like mad; I've been in a sort of denial over the last few weeks about how much I would miss seeing him and now that I'm facing the prospect of not having him next to me for a few weeks it's making me feel a bit sick. Time to give him a call, in fact, so hasta luego and more of this nonsense soon!

Liza, with a 'gee!'

Sometimes an invitation comes along that's so fantastic, you wonder what saintly good deeds you could have possibly done in a past life to have accrued so much positive karma. I seem to get a lot of these and so I'm beginning to wonder if, in my last incarnation, I may in fact have been Gandhi. The surest evidence of this came this Monday, when Alyn and I were the highly delighted recipients of two free tickets - best seats too, don't ya know - to see Liza Minelli, in concert, at the London Coliseum.

My expectations were, I have to confess, pretty low; not for want of loving Liza, for love her I do, but because based on recent form I just didn't think she'd be up to much. The last time I'd seen her perform was on a chat show, where she had sung - or rather, half-sung, half-spoken - while seated; a far cry from her high-kicking, high-notes Sally Bowles heyday. Throw in the hip surgery, yo-yo dieting and all too well-publicised messy, acrimonious divorce, and it doesn't bode well. Boy was I surprised then, when out on stage walked a very svelte, very steady Ms Minelli, who proceeded to wow us for the next ninety minutes with full-on, all out razzle dazzle that would put a woman half her age to shame.

Boldly eschewing much of her back catalogue, in the first half Liza - in astoundingly good voice - belted out a variety of punchy Broadway numbers, Kander and Ebb staples and smoky torch songs, mostly from atop a high bar stool placed centre-stage. Alyn was thrilled that she included his personal favourite, Maybe This Time from Cabaret, and I was ecstatic (as indeed was the entire audience) when she wrapped up Act One with the film's title number. Liza sang the line 'Well that's what comes from too much pills and liquor' with a knowing smile and roll of the eyes which suggested that she was rightly proud of having overcome her own very public battles with drugs and booze. Good on ya girl.

If Act One was fairly static and sedate, it was only because Liza was saving her energies for Act Two - an homage to the '50s stage shows of her godmother, Kay Thompson, and her backing singers The Williams Brothers (Andy and his three siblings). This was a real treat; while many of the numbers were unfamiliar, it was pure entertainment seeing Liza and the boys singing, dancing and hand-clapping like their lives depended on it. The energy was sky-high and by the time Liza wrapped up the proceedings with an all-out belting of New York, New York, the capacity crowd, we two included, had been whipped up into a Minelli-loving frenzy which could only be expressed through a five minute standing ovation and a good half dozen curtain calls.

The songs aside, there was so much else to love about this show. The outfits for a start were pure showbiz royalty glam; think sequins, bugle beads, one shoulder smocks, headbands and heels. The final, red ensemble included ruby slippers that were surely conceived as a nod to the most famous of 'Momma's' roles, emphasising Liza's status as the ultimate friend of Dorothy's. Which leads to another, delicious aspect of the evening: the endless, shameless name-dropping that only someone of Liza's stellar celebrity and lineage could get away with. As well as a few (and in fairness, judicious) references to 'Momma', we were also regaled with tales of 'my godmother, Kay Thompson', 'my godson, Ira Gershwin', 'my friend Stephen Sondheim', 'my dears John Kander and Fred Ebb' and even - when asserting New York, New York as being her signature song - to 'my Uncle Frank [Sinatra]'. Invariably these names cropped up in one of a succession of high camp anecdotes from Liza's five decade career. My absolute favourite came early on when Liza told us about the time she volunteered to stand in for the actress playing Roxie Hart in the original Broadway production of Chicago when the latter was invalided out after swallowing...a feather. Alyn and I agreed that this was quite possibly the gayest thing we'd ever heard, and laughed ourselves hoarse.

It wasn't all brilliant however; a lot of the banter between songs seemed clunky and unspontaneous (although there wasn't, as far as I could see, an autocue, as used by Ms Barbra Streisand...!) and the interminable introductions to and thanking of her various band members, crew and co-performers added about ten minutes to the show when we would much rather have had a couple of extra numbers instead. Also, it was somewhat disappointing that there was absolutely no merchandise to be had, not even programmes; while on the one hand it was refreshing to not be assaulted with over-priced tat for a change, on the other it would have been nice to be able to take away a rather more durable reminder of this momentous evening than just one's ticket stub. Finally, if perhaps uncharitably, I do think that for a top whack of £95 (notwithstanding that we didn't pay a cent for our tickets!) Liza could perhaps have stretched out the evening rather longer - even with a decent interval, we were still out on the pavement of St Martin's Lane well before 10pm. But these are all minor quibbles; this was a truly unforgettable evening and an emotional one too, as we witnessed what can only be described as a triumphant return to form for this most revered of gay icons.

And speaking of gay icons, my evening with Liza almost completes my 'royal flush': I've now seen live in concert Madonna, Barbra, Kylie, Shirley and Liza. Just Celine to go now and I'll have seen them all!