“I had no money growing up,” says Paul Gascoigne, in one of his many soliloquies about life and loss. “I haven’t got any now either. That’s why I’m doing these events for you lot.” His audience roars with laughter, as if sensing it is just another wind-up. Except this is one remark in his revue with the uncomfortable ring of truth. Why else would one of the most naturally gifted players England has ever produced have dragged himself 270 miles from his Bournemouth home to the outskirts of Preston on a Sunday? Yes, he craves the company, with his gratitude to those who have come frequently bringing him to tears.
I sat in the front row for Gazza’s show and saw a fragile soul laid bare
