It’s a swelteringly hot day in Palm Springs, California, and guests at the luxury Hotel Zoso are quietly wilting into their cappuccinos when Barry Manilow strides in looking cool and crisp in a black shirt, grey trousers and black shoes buffed to a T.
He’s slim as a whippet, his trademark blond hair is bristling with energy and, at 65, he has the zest of a man half his age.
He is just back from a series of sellout dates in Canada, where, instead of the ageing audience you might expect, he was amazed by the ‘young, vibrant’ reception he got.
‘Every year I think to myself, this is it, it’s all going to stop.
'But,’ he shrugs, looking incredulous, ‘it just keeps going.’
It does indeed. In December, Manilow will be playing two dates at London’s O2 arena.
His songs have been covered by the likes of Take That and Westlife, and though the critics have been savage at times, frankly, what do they know?