Neil Sedaka has to be next.

I don’t mean next to die. I mean that the songs of Neil Sedaka, 77 yesterday, must surely form the basis of the next hit jukebox musical. He’s written so many and his story is a good one. Huge in the early 60s, Sedaka was finished once The Beatles came along. Then his mother and her new husband absconded with all his money, so he had to start again, playing piano in grotty small town venues. But he never gave up and, with the enthusiasm of a true ingenue, re-established himself as an even bigger star. I witnessed this enthusiasm first-hand about twenty years ago. I was in Kettners in Soho and he was on the next table. Simply because a fan asked him to, he went over to the piano and sang this, loving every moment. So when Sedaka The Musical inevitably opens, I’ll be first in the queue.