Dyed shoulder-length hair: check. Green hippie guitar: check. Grizzled? Oh my, yes. Lovely smile. Totally cool. The voice wasn't what it was and he didn't seem to know quite what to do with it at first (it settled in). Hand-written cue cards for the lyrics were changed between songs. The orchestra was under-rehearsed and seemed to confuse Yer Man. Jimmy Page, for it was he, did show up but his guitar solo on Sunshine Superman went almost unheard in the dire sound mix. In between musical sections, Don's grown-up daughter arrived (under-lit) to extol Pop's genius with self-indulgent twaddle. Her preening half brother joined his Dad on a number. And on and on. And on. Ultimately, it was a massacre. To be honest, I enjoyed the first half, such was my love for the man's music. But by the end, I was in a good deal of mental pain. Donovan deserves to get back into the limelight and bask in past glories. But some tickets (mine) cost £60. We deserved better.