It was cold — people were queuing from midday to 7pm on a bitter February day. It only rained once, and Prince had Hot Chocolate delivered to the waiting fans around 6 o’clock — but still, it was a pretty bone-chilling way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

It was cheap — it was supposed to be £70, which everyone was expecting to pay — and it ended up being just a tenner. At 2000 people, that was net £20,000 ticket sales for the show — which is probably less than it cost him to hire the venue. Despite his jokes about passing round his big black hat, Prince left £120,000 on the table at this gig — which makes him a very generous man.

It was loud — 3rdEyeGirl were made to shred. And thrash. And rock. And funk. Prince ransacked his back catalogue — from his most popular tunes, to his earliest albums, to his most obscure Internet-only releases — to choose the most mosh-tastic tunes and play to his band’s not inconsiderable strengths.

It was intimate — for his first encore, Prince sat alone in the dark toying with some of his most delicate melodies — just keys and voice, alone, in the dark.

It was funky — he plays a sample of a tune, straps on a bass and just jams it out — showing any DJ you’d care to name that it really makes a difference if you can play more than a record.

It was long — 2 and a half hours of music, more or less, with 5 (count em!) encores (see above re: £10). And it was obvious that, if he wanted to, he could have gone for another 2 and a half hours more. It wasn’t a competition between him and the audience to see who would last longer — he barely broke a sweat, and, like a generous opponent in the boxing ring, let us leave while we were still standing.

It was, in a word, awesome — in the old fashioned sense of the term. Prince is (obviously) just a man, but let’s be honest — to see him like this, you have to admit that despite his humanity, he inspires a strange kind of existential terror by wrapping so much talent into a single mortal frame.