Hopping mad, Sgt Elton John spat bullets in the witness box

With a lick of his lips and a ‘for heaven’s sake’ gaze at the ceiling, Sir Elton’s decades of showmanship took centre stage when it came to revealing exactly how he feels about this privacy scandal, writes Victoria Richards

Sir Elton John took his time as he was patched into the witness box via video link from parts unknown in the long-running case of Prince Harry and pals vs the publishers of The Daily Mail newspaper. He seemed to have turned to Nietzsche for advice on how to deal with more than a decade of sheer, unbridled, simmering rage at his treatment by the tabloids: "One does not kill by anger, but by laughter".

With smiles full of razor blades, he stood up, licking his lips over and over as though parched by the sheer preposterousness of the click-bait being thrown his way. Again.

The reason we were all here – or not, in the case of Sir Elton, who apologised to Mr Justice Nicklin “for the inconvenience of my eyesight” which meant “it would be difficult for me to come to court” – is that the singer, his husband David Furnish, 63, and the Duke of Sussex, 41, are among celebrities bringing a privacy claim against associated newspapers claiming they were victims of phone hacking and blagging. The publisher of the Daily Mail and Mail on Sunday denies wrongdoing.

In any case, it is quite a thing to watch a decorated performer like Sir Elton – ditching the starry and spangly specs for smart and serious thick frames and a muted green coat – staring daggers while viscerally reacting to headlines such as: “Sick Elton cancels more tour dates” from 2009, “Elton's new baby next door (in £1.3m luxury flat with two nannies round-the-clock)” from 2011 and “Girl about town: Elton in Monaco ambulance dash after his leg ‘swells like a balloon’ during tennis match” from 2015. And all the more devastating for it.

Just a moment later – ever the showman – he switched. Out strolled the seemingly good-natured, eye-rolling “what are they like, eh” feigned nonchalance and in walked Sgt. Elton in army gear, clutching a handful of linguistic grenades, describing attempts to keep the birth of his son Zachary private as being “like an army manoeuvre”.“We kept it quiet – which was a miracle, considering who we are,” he bellowed, clearly incensed by the sixth article in his claim against the newspaper’s publisher for “unlawfully obtained information”, which bore the headline: “Elton: I’m the daddy; He is named as ‘Father’ of surrogate son on official document – and David Furnish is ‘Mother’” (Daily Mail, 2010). Not a hint of mirth.

No question, then, that he’s spitting mad. The only query that remained is who he was angry with most. At times, it felt like it was his former PR man and spokesperson, Gary Farrow, at in front of the firing squad: “Ah, yes, the wonderful Mr Farrow,” he said dryly, running through stories that had wound up in the press. “I didn’t have a bacterial infection, so Mr Farrow got it completely wrong.” He sat up straighter, licked his lips three times. “”My leg didn’t ‘blow up on a tennis court … I had an infection in my glute.” Which, frankly, felt like too much information.

When counsel tells him the information was provided by Mr Farrow, Sir Elton let go a hail of bullets: “That’s why Mr Farrow no longer works for us.”At other times, it was his “friends” – those who, it is alleged, leaked private information to the newspapers in question. Sir Elton seethes at the idea: “No, they didn’t,” he thundered – gaze no longer wandering to his left but barrelling forward, sharp and dead-centre, cocked like a rifle. “My friends don’t talk to the press – that’s why they’re my friends.” He licked his lips again, a dramatic pause. “Our friends don’t give information to newspapers.”

He was just as vicious on the defensive (one gets the impression that to be in Sir Elton’s inner circle is a rare honour, indeed) when he responded to the suggestion that his husband, David Furnish – who he has been with for 30 years – had himself spoken to the press in the past.Sir Elton snapped back, eviscerating the very idea of such betrayal; pointing out that on the occasions when Furnish has been accosted by “nosy” journalists at events, he has been warm and friendly to them, for fear – frankly – of “pissing them off”. “David would never speak to a journalist about our private life,” he said, venomously. “That’s just a no-go.” Case closed.

Except, of course, it isn’t. We’re only in the early stages of this thorny, difficult trial – which also features Prince Harry and the actress Liz Hurley – but it’s fast becoming clear that what it is throwing up are questions about the nature of privacy itself: what is it, who owns it, how do we monitor and protect and enable it; and is it still private if you reveal it yourself? Is it, for example, an “invasion of privacy” if the story originated from an update posted on your own website – if it was confirmed by your own spokesman, working for you at the time – as counsel claims was the case with the story about Sir Elton’s cancelled tour?

Sir Elton says it is.He maintained, in the box – 45 minutes later and sitting, rather than still standing – that while certain details were accessible, others were not without being unlawful, and as such, this is what the case shall rest on.Still, during his brief testimony, he revealed intimate details about his private life I had no idea about, nor ever wished to know about: his “infected glute” (a stark image if ever there was one), the fact that he does not have a mobile phone,but three landlines (which he says were “all hacked, including the telephone junction at the end of our road”).

I learned just how much he struggles with his eyesight, apologising for it being “a nuisance” and pointing out when he couldn’t read the evidence presented on screen. I learned how savagely he protects his real friends – which are few and far between, but definitely include Liz Hurley.

In fact I now feel that I know more about Sir Elton than ever, at a time when the one thing he wishes is to be unknown. I also learned how exhausting his celebrity status is to him now, after so many years in the spotlight: “...because we’re famous, blah blah blah”; and how irritated he becomes when asked to provide details and dates and clarifications he feels are unimportant.

“Why are you concentrating on these two things?” he demanded – and if looks could kill as well as laughter, we would all be dead. “You’re focusing on my infected glute [there it is, again]– when we’ve been through the most horrendous things anyone can suffer. Surely you have some serious questions to ask me?” And you know what, I did want to know about the glute. I couldn't help but focus on the glute. But it would take a braver person than me to go straight to the source and ask Elton. Which, ultimately, is where all this trouble started.