The term 'rock royalty' is bandied about far too casually. The brothers Gallagher? Ha! Robbie Williams? I don't think so.
The truth is that if the Queen were to abdicate and go outside the family when looking to anoint a successor, she'd probably start with Sir Elton John and - unlike the appointment of the England football manager or the election of a new Prime Minister - the country would to a man and woman sit back in their armchairs and say 'good choice, Ma'am'. Elton is an all round good guy who pays his taxes, after all.
It took Elton just eight minutes to leave Leigh in his helicopter after stepping off the stage at the inaugural Sports Village concert. But whilst he might have been in a hurry to depart this corner of Lancashire (to be fair, he did have a gig in Switzerland the following day), for the two and a half hours that he graced the stage he brought more than a touch of showbiz glamour to a town that has a bit of a chip on its shoulder about being the little cousin to its neighbour Wigan and nothing much to boast about apart from the accolade of being the biggest town in England without a railway station.
And Elton was suitably gushing about Leigh (he'd rather play there than Manchester Arena) and suitably blokeish about the World Cup (comments about FIFA being corrupt and 'a bunch of c***s') to endear himself to anyone who came along to this gig doubting whether one of the country's great pop icons was worth shelling out £80 for.
In truth there were very few doubters even before the Top Ten hits started flowing, and none by the end. The mainly female crowd (who invaded the gents toilets around the stadium pre gig because of the imbalance in lavatory facilities - note to promoters of this first ever gig at the Sports Village: get this sorted if you're putting on any more concerts here) were dressed up in their finery or in fancy dress - sometimes it was hard to differentiate - and had come to party.
So the bar staff were kept busy, the stewards were unable to stop the aisles from filling with drunken revellers (at one point they spent several minutes trying to get the woman behind me to sit down, without success) and Elton reminded everyone that only Paul McCartney, David Bowie and Jagger & Richards can match him when it comes determining the roll call of England's greatest living pop songwriters (with lyricist Bernie Taupin, that is).
From Candle In The Wind, The Bitch Is Back and Rocket Man through to I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues, Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word and Tiny Dancer, Elton and his five piece band served up a banquet of forty years of chart success that only someone who has lived in a cave since 1970 will not have been familiar with.
He finished with Your Song and Crocodile Rock, the crowd 'la-la-la-la-la'-ing along to the chorus of the latter and giving the man centre stage another reason to indulge in a bout of fist pumping as he fed off the joy and the intoxicated affection the audience was exuding.
Elton finished his main set with Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting. That could be Wigan's theme song, but in Leigh Saturday night was all right for dancing. And as Elton flew off in his helicopter and back to his palatial home in the kingdom they call Down South his subjects waved up to him and then they danced and they danced all the way home.
