I quite enjoyed Thelma Plum's opening set, and the outfit she was wearing induced a vision of the seventeen-year-old descending Victorian stairs in a Jesse Winchester song, and the accent sort of fitted the same vibe, though young ladies in Victorian times would have ended up with a mouthful of soap after a couple of bitter and twisted (her words, not mine) cuss-words delivered with a pert attitude that didn't quite sit with the mental Victoriana. Interesting, anyway.
The Costello set, as noted in the actual concert review (here) was, at twenty-five songs, slightly shorter than I'd have preferred, but if Elvis delivered the show I'd have preferred he'd still be going at one in the morning, wouldn't he?
And as we made our way out of the theatre I hooked back up with Popey and Popelets as we made our way around to the location we'd used to get a bit of late night Elvis time in on the two previous shows at the venue.
Actually, I had visions of verifying the Steve Nieve sighting in Osaka and maybe getting photographic evidence of any encounter, but it wasn't to be.
There were a couple of the regulation backstage liggers in evidence, but it wasn't long before the security bloke on location indicated he was about to close off the opening. Elvis wouldn't be leaving the building that way.
A quick stroll around to the other possibility revealed a minibus in situ down the alleyway, so that put the kibosh on that little notion. I suppose we could have hung around, but with the possibilities reduced to a wave as the Tarago passed us by the bottle of Tempranillo Touriga that was waiting upstairs at the Hilton seemed a much better proposition.