EVIDENTLY, what the geezer sitting next to me most dug last night were the explosions. There were several. At each loud report and cascade of white sparks, he clapped like a hyper-active seal. He probably cheered, too.

Impossible to tell over all the noise, though. Last night's noise? Most it of came from the stage, of course, but much was emitted by 6000-odd

easily-impressed Janet-gannets, whooping fit to combust. How they hollered when Janet threw her shapes.

Janet's moves? She's got some. The raunchy slink. The supermodel catwalk strut. The robotic head-flick. The

de-strung marionette sag. The legs-akimbo-sideways-scissor-semaphore. Kinda like brother Michael's moonwalk, that last one, only different.

When Janet quit her jigging and huskily confided that it was - dramatic pause - her first time - sultry gasp - in beautiful Scotland, how the Janet-gannets screamed. Mind you, they'd screamed when a bulky

lighting-operative had shinned up a rope ladder to his aerial command-post even before the show started.

Songs? Oh, yeah. What Have You Done For Me Lately. That one. And others. Eight dancers and three lavish stage-sets, too. Lots to watch. Perhaps too much. Indeed, I left when Janet imperiously summonsed some geek from the throng. Then she molested him with her Wonderbra. Steady on, missus.

The geezer sitting next to me last night? Mostly he sat, staring, looking stunned. Lots of spectacle going on with Janet. Not much else, but.