Ah, the Brits. The night when the British music industry lets it all hang out, when Robbie challenges Liam to a punch-up, Michael Jackson touts for adoration and gets Jarvis Cocker’s arse instead, and Danbert Nobacon tips an ice bucket over the Deputy Prime Minister’s head. Great stuff – but not any more.

This was the year of the Safe Brits, a ceremony so sanitised and predictable that ITV could start showing it “as live” just minutes after it had actually ended. It was also the year of the Fake Brits, because what we saw was just the preamble, held at 6pm in a cavernous Earls Court with no alcohol and concert-style tiered seating. As the organisers let slip, the “traditional partying, banquet and after show celebrations” took place in the other Earls Court exhibition hall, immediately after the show. So the industry still let it hang out, but in a separate event we didn’t get to see.

That probably explains why the ceremony had such a definite air of let’s-get-it-over-with-and-get-to-the-bar (or washrooms), with stars and suits alike fidgeting grumpily as compere Davina McCall whizzed efficiently through the running order. She’s the most capable (and over-exposed) live-event host in the business, but her skills weren’t really needed, because nobody was going to do anything that might delay the popping of the first corks (or lose them their record contract). They didn’t, and the whole awards-thingy business was dispensed with quickly enough to let Tom Jones spend a full half-hour filling in at the end.