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His daughter Astrella Celeste kicked off the first half, backed by a guitarist and the keyboard player in a hat like Oliver Twist's who was later to accompany Donovan so ably.
Astrella sang a half-dozen songs and only latterly was patience getting thin because after all we had come to see the old man. Her last song was, however, a clever choice which would stay in the mind: her most haunting number.
The famous green-faced semi-acoustic guitar 'Kelly' had been there all along on its stand and when the lad himself came out and hefted it and started off with 'The Enchanted Gypsy', everyone in the packed Corn Exchange knew they were in the hands of a master of the trade.
The whole first half he treated us to many of his classics and the packed audience, mainly greyhairs, appreciated it mightily. The second half, he told us at the break, he would return with songs from the Beat Café CD plus more of the older ones. The whole evening he linked up with polished and apparently off-the-cuff remarks about the beatnik life that, in the late '50s and the '60s, launched the glorious Donovan musical extravaganza of four decades.
He came back with the keyboard player, Rat Scabies on drums and a player of a jazz-type 'standing bass'. Donovan himself strapped on an electric 'axe' and even played a little bit of lead guitar. Up until recently he has always preferred just setting up a rhythm, albeit sometimes very intricate, on the chord box. Improvisational-style 'lead' he has usually played only on the harmonica. But tonight in 'Season of the Witch' and one or two other numbers he rattled out a dirty lead passage (turning away from the audience while doing so and towards the keyboard man and Rat Scabies).
This was a special concert for us, especially in view of the fact that as we were walking down a side street near King's College looking for somewhere to eat we saw Donovan. He was walking along like an ordinary being, with two companions. He shook our hands and smiled as we assured him we had our tickets safe.