A lone figure sits on a sand dune on the domineering backdrop screen, facing the waves as the ambient clamour of seascape sounds permeate the chatter and hum of 3arena; oh so gradually intensifying. “Come ye in from the bar”, it almost whispers, and crashes, until the air vibrates that bit more and a thrum of bass is joined by choir-like vocals. “Get in, ye bastards”, they seem to beckon in their serene siren voices. And the people come, pints in hand. He knows how to build an air of subtle expectation, does Roger Waters. Always did. There can’t be…