Wembley Arena, last night, the Cuban disco goddess that is Gloria Estefan.
5.30pm - meet up with Gay Best Friend at Baker Street. Drink beer, eat crisps, talk work. So far, so hetero.
6.30pm - jump on tube to Wembley. Discuss our favourite Gloria tracks, try and guess what she's going to sing. Discuss Dolly Parton's hair, and slag off Madonna (but only a little bit, because we love her really). Getting gayer.
7.30pm - walk into the Arena. Baulk slightly at the number of Fag/Hag combinations. So camp you can hardly breath.
8.20pm - Glo gets on stage. The crowd goes mad. The Happiest Man in the World is dancing with his hands in the air down near the front row. She does all the classics, and I'm ashamed to say that I shed a little tear at Anything for You, because it reminds me of being 16 and heartbroken when my first boyfriend dumped me for the girl I sat next to in English.
10.40pm - 2 encores later, and we're out and on our way home. A brilliant night. Gloria, we salute you.
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