Rover returns

Within the first two songs of The Pogues' triumphant return, a tricolour had found its way from the audience into the free hand of Shane MacGowan. Watching the reformed group draw from the wells of snarling punk and raucous traditional music, you realised just how deep they run into the nation's character.

Under that flag hangs a history of exile and rebellion, a fighting spirit and a grim moroseness. The Pogues express it all. Unsteady on his feet but unwavering in his performance, MacGowan and the group received a massive wave of adulation from a heaving crowd. Previously the concern among many was not whether The Pogues would perform well, but whether they would perform at all.

Seconds into a boisterous Streams of Whiskey the fervour of the revellers quashed such doubt and almost drowned out the band. The gig quickly assumed a pattern. Every couple of songs MacGowan shambled offstage while The Pogues performed instrumentals or other Shaneless numbers. MacGowan then rambled back on, refreshed, and the crowd erupted.

The pace of the concert was frenzied. A menacing Boys From the County Hell was chased by the lilting A Rainy Night in Soho; the sweeping A Pair of Brown Eyes led to a rollicking The Body of An American.

Soaring above the Christmas classics that had drifted earlier through the PA system, was the finest Christmas song ever written, performed by its authors and dedicated to the departed Kirsty McColl. But despite its energy and timeliness, Fairytale of New York proved a stocking filler. The real gift arrived during a second encore, as The Dubliners were welcomed to the stage for a miraculous rendition of Irish Rover.