This song she explains has the following question: what do you find in girls’

“This song,” she explains, “has the following question: what do you find in girls’ handbags?” before launching into “Le Sac des Filles”. Dressed in an outfit seemingly made of shredded loo roll and with two male sidekicks (one on bass, one on piano, both on body-slapping), she delivered one of the most surprising, funny and warm performances I have ever seen – more akin to an art “happening” than a boring old gig.
Rather sweetly, she translates the song’s lyrics for the handful of – as she puts it – “indigenous” people in the audience. A couple of songs in, Camille asks, “Are there any French here tonight?” and three-quarters of the crowd roar in response. It’s a testament to her success back home, and her relatively underground status in the UK. It’s a shame, because the Parisienne’s last album Le Fil – an avant-pop, beat-boxing, hand-clapping exercise in melodic mimimalism – was one of the most maverick albums of 2005, drawing widespread and obvious comparisons to Bj?(they both have breasts; it’s inevitable).

Do you ever talk to Robbie?”Speaking of which, whatever did happen to the fifth feller? Oh, if only I could leave my review hanging on that line But Take That can’t let it lie, any more than I can. The stage falls dark, a 20ft hologram of Robbie Williams – specially recorded by the absent superstar – is conjured before our eyes, to sing the opening to “Could It Be Magic”, and all of Sheffield chants “Robbie! Robbie!”When he sleeps tonight, will Howard (or was it Jason?) be haunted by that sound? Or will he just be dreaming of boobs?s.price independent.co.uk. It’s disarmingly candid, with mentions of ploys such as “maintain ambiguous sexuality” and is followed by an equally witty “FAQs” skit: “I bet you got loads of groupies… Watching a quartet of thirtysomething adults prancing about – and in Owen’s case, breakdancing – is both hilariously camp and oddly joy-inspiring.It’s during the encore that 10,000 fires are re-lit (Beverly Knight, incidentally, does the Lulu bit). They reappear with a clever Matrix parody, in which a mad scientist demonstrates how to manufacture a boy band. For the opening song, suited, booted and static, they could be one of those gransploitation pop-opera acts such as Il Divo or G4.Of course, it was all a tease. No sooner does “Pray” kick in than they’re pirouetting, sliding and flouncing through their hits like it’s 1994 again.

That said, The Ultimate Tour is more fun than it has any right to be.Barlow is still difficult to love: pudding-faced, serious-browed, Deirdre-surnamed, Astley-souled, the epitome of Hollyoaks Man. Donald and Orange, always the interchangeable tall blokes at the back, remain indistinguishable, but it’s the puckish Mark Owen, in the absence of ssshhh, you know who, that gains the most screams.At first, they keep their cards close to their chests, as grown-ups do. Take That’s records, give or take “Sure” and “Back For Good”, were mostly rubbish – naff Hi-NRG or saccharine balladry – and most of their hits weren’t penned by the much vaunted Barlow (who was hyped as some sort of new George Michael), but were covers of tunes by Manilow, Hartman, Gibb or King. Their simple, brutal plan – use the gay audience to get the band on to Top of the Pops, then tone down the gayness (but not by that much) and sell them to the girlies – became the prototype for every new pop act of the Nineties.Which is why, 10 years after their inglorious demise, Barlow, Owen, Orange and Donald are able to sell out a comeback tour in a matter of minutes, and it’s why Howard (or is it Jason?) is in front of me tonight, smirking, “The last time we were here, all the girlies had fried eggs, but I see a lot of big boobies out there tonight.”But let’s not rewrite history. That was a fait accompli every bit as inevitable as the non-participation of the band’s most famous member. After all, let’s not pretend that the foursome’s post-TT careers have exactly been thriving I’m talking about the whole Take That project.