[Smithy]

Originally Posted by InOne

When?

Earlier in the day, she had said – somewhat unexpectedly – “I still feel very much like an outsider. And I have zero concept of how I’m assessed in the world.” As one of the most-discussed women in the world, this is a surprise. Does she really not read her press? Perhaps this is how she’s stayed so… normal. Ordering drinks, chatting to everyone. She’s the least pretentious multimillion-selling artist I’ve ever met.

A minute later, Gaga springs up, and beckons for me to follow her. Weaving her way down a series of corridors, we eventually end in – the VIP toilet.

“You’re wearing a jumpsuit,” Gaga says, with feminine solidarity. “You can’t get out of one of those in the normal toilets.”

As I start to arduously unzip, Gaga sits on the toilet with a cheerful, “I’m just going to pee through my fishnets!”, and offloads some of those whiskies.

For the first year of her career, massive internet rumours claimed that Gaga was, in fact, a man – a rumour so strong that Oprah had to question her about it, when Gaga appeared on her show.

Perhaps uniquely among all the journalists in the world, I can now factually confirm that Lady Gaga does not have a penis. That rumour can, conclusively, die.

4am. Time for bed. We pull up outside the Ritz Carlton, in a people carrier with blacked-out windows. Gaga opens the door and totters out, looking – despite the McQueen cloak – like any tipsy 24-year-old girl on a night out in Newcastle on a Saturday. Her grey wig looks dishevelled. Her face-sequins are wonky. Her eyes are pointing in slightly different directions – although, to be fair, I can only focus on her myself if I close one eye and rest my head against the window. Tonight, she played to 17,000 fans. Tomorrow, it’s Sting’s Rainforest Benefit, where she takes her place among the pantheon: Debbie Harry, Bruce Springsteen, Elton John.