So... even The King feels my celeb pain?

I was so triggered by all that pre-concert sniping. Here's why.

Katy Perry bedazzling in gold leather at The King’s concert in Windsor

I’m just back from a whirlwind 24 hours in Devon, nipping down to toast our beloved Bobby Dazzler’s birthday in the incredible stately home he’s currently refurbishing with his wife, my adorable friend, Donna Ida. My husband Ross and our friends Kelly and John went ahead of me because I couldn’t miss my hosting duties in a special Saturday night edition of Palace Confidential. It was a big weekend in royal news, not sure if you heard. 

When I finally got there, I ate, I drank, I laughed til it hurt. (When Donna picked me up from the train station, I’d been in the car for 20 seconds when she said, ‘We were out on a walk earlier when a goose bit me and then I farted.’ It was a strong opener.) Don’t tell my dog, but I also spent the whole time canoodling with their zoo of them, including the newest, the almost upsettingly cute, Rodrigo. It was heaven. 

Rodrigo. Seriously, even his poos are cute.

After a lovely Sunday roast, we settled in to watch the Coronation concert, live from Windsor. From the headlines I’d been reading about it all in the lead-up, I was expecting to maybe see that trumpeting busker from High Street Kensington: he cannot play one single note of When The Saints Go Marching In, but it doesn’t stop him doing it. On repeat. For hours at a time. 

I’d seen so much chat about how crap this was going to be: ‘Lacklustre’, apparently. Every newspaper ran a version of the story about the stars who had ‘snubbed’ the chance to perform for the royal family - Kylie Minogue, Ed Sheeran, Elton John and Adele were among those reported to have declined the invitation. 

It also seemed to dominate conversations all around me. ‘Surely they could have got the Rolling Stones’ or ‘Isn’t Lionel Richie a bit… random?’ were just two things I heard whilst going about my business. 

Whatever the truth is about who couldn’t make it work in the diary, or who really did blatantly ‘snub’ the event, all I could think was, ‘Wow, so even an actual King has to stomach celebrities saying ‘no’.’ 

It sent me hurtling back to the days when it was my job to organise a big celebrity event.  I know organising an awards show isn’t brain surgery. But I reckon I’ve been through some shit that would make even a brain surgeon feel a wee bit stressed.  If even King Charles III has Adele claiming she’s washing her hair that night, maybe I didn’t do so badly in all those years. 

I haven’t worked at Glamour for nearly six years. And to this day, I still have people talk to me about how fabulous the Glamour Women of the Year Awards were. And I will allow myself a moment of immodesty to say, yeah, I think we did a pretty great job of it. There were essentially four of us tasked with making it happen. We didn’t pay people to attend. We needed them to feel that being voted for as a leader in their field, by the magazine’s readers, was a great enough reason to want to be there. It meant asking them to commit their time - both on the night, plus travel time, as well as at least a day beforehand to be photographed for the magazine. 

Each year we honoured our winners on stage at the event, and within the pages of the magazine. And each year, there would inevitably be sneers from showbiz journalists and readers alike, incredulous about a glaring omission from the line-up. Believe me, we tried many many times to honour the likes of Amy Winehouse, Lady Gaga, Beyonce, Rihanna. Once, one of my bosses pulled me aside at work, smiling conspiratorially and said, ‘Madonna’s coming this year, isn’t she? Oh I bet she is!’ And I wanted to cry because I knew she absolutely was not coming and so then felt like I’d already failed.

It could have genuinely been other commitments that stopped these stars from attending, or a complete lack of interest. (One Hollywood publicist told me repeatedly that he just ‘didn’t see the point’ of our event. Cheers.) Every year, I’d ignore the defeatist voice in my head and try all over again to get those mega stars in the room. We came close, very close, with more than one of the above, on more than one occasion. And despite hope always springing eternal, for some of these names, it was just not meant to be.

(Although we did have Adele there. Sorry, your Majesty.)

Team Glamour. It was pretty much down to me, James Williams and Helen Whitaker to coax those famous faces through our door. You would not think that three people who clean up so nice could swear quite as much as we did.

Gallingly, more than one Z-lister told us to jog on too. Every time we organised the Awards, there’d be at least one moment with my colleague, entertainment director James Williams, where we’d be anguished over whether or not inviting this or that ‘smaller’ celeb.  Was he or she the right tone? Would their presence make other bigger stars think they’d made an embarrassing call by being there? (I hope that doesn’t sound mean: But the agents of mega celebs will have no qualms about telling you they think your event is ‘beneath’ their client). And then we would have to laugh at ourselves when we finally agreed to extend the invitation, only to get a flat ‘no thanks’. 

Many publicists would tell me no, they couldn’t get their coveted client to our event, but, ‘Don’t stress, Jo, it’s always an amazing night!’ Not if everyone says no it won’t be, I’d seethe to myself as I steeled myself to move on and try again.

Experience also taught me that no celebrity has in fact confirmed their attendance until you’re standing looking right at them in the room. Long time readers will already know the fateful tale of Kanye West and the domino effect it had on that years’ guest list. 

I really learned that one the hard way in 2016, when Carrie Fisher dropped out of attending when she was en route to the event. She had agreed to present to that year’s Writer of the Year, her friend Helen Fielding. 

And listen, as a committed Star Wars freak, I am in no way here to slag off Princess Leia. Frankly, Carrie Fisher could have set my actual head on fire and I’d still be a fan. But it’s just a very real example of the stresses and strains that go into making these events happen. 

The show had started. This means the script, the running order and its tons of music, graphics and lighting cues could not be changed. Pretty soon, it would be Helen’s turn to get on stage and be handed a trophy from…. someone. For the next 20 minutes, there was conflicting information but in a nutshell, we went from having it confirmed that Carrie was in the car we had sent for her, to actually no, the driver can’t get her to answer the door, to oh wait, she’s in the car, back to no, she’s definitely not coming. 

We had maybe another 15 minutes before Helen would be on stage. We needed a celebrity to hand her an award. James and I snuck to a corner where no one could see us to pore over the table plans and figure out who was in the room who would do a nice job for our winner and who hopefully not be massively offended by this last minute imposition of basically being hurled on stage, unprepared. I settled on someone who I knew to be a good egg. The conversation went like this:

Amanda Holden:  Oh Jo, hi, how are you?

Me:  Um… a bit shit.’  

Amanda: ‘Ohhhhh, someone’s dropped out, haven’t they? OK, what do you need?’

And this is one of the millions of reasons I love Amanda Holden and Alesha Dixon - guided by our nimble-minded entertainment editor, Helen Whitaker, the pair quickly devised a charming little skit for their presentation to Helen Fielding. They were slightly merry, because they did not expect to be getting on stage. Which only added to the delightfulness.  

Crisis? What crisis? We did not plan this four minutes ago, honest.

Typically the Glamour Awards would take around 10 months of organisation. And it was a village fete compared to the Windsor concert, a spectacle that must be broadcast to the world and therefore not embarrass The King or you know, the whole country. So, if it’s you who’s been organising that Windsor wing-ding in the short time since The Queen passed, then I’d like you to know: I see you. I salute you. I know you, your insomnia and your no doubt nuclear case of Irritable Bowel Syndrome. And I know you might have even had a little stress leak from your eyes when there was so much focus on who wasn’t going to be there.  

One year, in trying to pep talk James (and myself) when the fifth celebrity in a week had reneged on their confirmed attendance, I said, ‘The thing is, it really is only you and me who see the ghosts in the room. No one else knows who said no. They’ll only see all the great people who are there.’ And it really did make us both feel better. And then James’s phone rang with a bit more shit news. Lolz.

But thinking back to that night when I really thought Kanye West’s absence from our event was going to ruin it: his absence actually ended up creating a presence for something else that was really fantastic. 

You can read all about why this was the greatest thing here.

I thought about all of this a lot when I watched last night’s concert. It was fast-paced, eclectic, inventive and featured so many genuinely moving moments. Lucy Illingworth’s piano solo was astonishing and mesmerising. Why did I find myself crying over a drones display? Am I the only one who’s been underestimating Nicole Sherzinger? Don’t get me wrong I knew she could sing, but that was breathtaking in a way I was not prepared for. And if Take That’s anthem Never Forget doesn’t swell your heart, then I think you might be missing one.

These performers all made this a really beautiful event.

Who wasn’t there? It just does not matter.