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First Night: Guns N' Roses

It's an event that Mr Axl Rose will live to regret for quite some time. Or maybe just the fan who threw that second bottle. Either way, none of us could have predicted the out and out disaster that would unfold upon Guns N' Roses' long-awaited return to the capital yesterday evening.

Let's just say that things started to get a little messy around 10.30pm -- around about the same time that Axl and his troops finally showed their faces amid a deafening roar of blatant disapproval.

Dressed like some tacky '70s porn star who's clearly been tucking into the free catering, Axl limps into action, visibly peeved with an unfortunate roadie who's desperately trying to re-attach a swaying ear piece.

What's more, he sounds awful ... absolutely awful. His bandmates aren't much better, either, but it's what happens during the second number that really kick-starts this circus. "One more bottle -- we go home," says Axl, staring at the beer splashed ground beneath him. And 20 minutes later, it's all over.

"Technical difficulties" is how the stage crew choose to describe it. Christ, even promoter Denis Desmond is forced to make an appearance in order to calm us down and convince us they'll be back. People are leaving, though, and all because His (Ass) Holiness showed up late and threw a hissy fit over some spilt alcohol.

When a clearly enraged and largely uninterested Axl and Co finally return half an hour later, it's all just a little too late. I could tell you that the rest of the show (which didn't finish until 1am, mind) went smoothly, and that hearing Sweet Child o' Mine in the flesh was, like, so amazing. But it wasn't. Poser cock-rock at its unbelievable worst, this was the most disastrous performance that I've ever witnessed; a sad, yet disturbingly comical farce that promoters and fans may just keep in mind next time around -- if there even is a next time.