"And now, esteemed guests, please rise for the national anthem, performed today by your soaring idol, Mynah Darling!"

She steps up to the microphone and raises one hand into the descending hush. It's a different kind of wave to the giddy one she's used to offering, to a different kind of audience. Her dress is different, too, a full-length gown in blue silk with almost no frills or ruffles, just a delicate spread of rhinestoned lace across the bodice.

The haunting, high, opening note sounds over the PA, and she joins her voice to it, like placing a piece in a jigsaw puzzle. For once she doesn't have to think about the crowd – the nearest listeners are fifty yards away in the stands, so despite the bright day she can't make out their faces like the front row of an arena. No-one expects eye-contact from her, but here no-one will forgive a bum note or flubbed word.

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Nor does she have to dance. It took a couple of sessions with her choreographer to get her to stand still enough after years of high-energy routines. She can raise and lower her arm a couple of times where it suits the rise of the music, that's all. Even those moments are precisely planned, trained and drilled to perfection.

The crowd's singing is a whisper, and she doesn't really hear the band either. She feels the harmonies in her throat and chest and breath, and they dictate the sounds she makes. Though the lyrics are martial, she finds herself peaceful, empty. As so many times before, performance is action, not thinking.

Only as the last lyric fades, '…to share my homeland', does she notice the tear creeping down her cheek.