Those who know me, and I like to think you can include yourselves on that count dear, dear readers, are aware I’m rendered flustered by flirts. Predictably then foxy Brighton trio The Pipettes have me stammering and red-faced with their coquettish inter-song chitchat. Along no doubt with the rest of the male members, pun very much intended, attending tonight’s festive gig.

Not that I’m aware of anybody else in the crowd. Such is the spell bewitching Becki, glamorous Gwenno, and ravishing Rose cast over your helpless reviewer. It’s as if I’m enjoying my own private audience with the girls.

It’s a wonder then, that lost in reverie that I am, I escape attracting the attention of security when I start to take up the a cappella punk group’s offers to dance with them on ‘Pull Shapes’. The all-knowing threesome keep me in check, however, when they show typical feminine insight in addressing my ‘Dirty Mind’. If Dennis Potter was still alive, he’d be casting these vixens, make no mistake.

The last time I went to the Roundhouse was to see the mighty Suede. Then it was a near-dilapidated venue. Fittingly enough to host these lovely, lovely ladies, it’s had one hell of a makeover.

The ‘50s throwbacks end a short, but so obviously sweet, one-hour set with an encore of ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’.  During which I’m again struck by the delusional notion that The Pipettes might be dedicating songs to me. Now where did I put that mistletoe?

(4½/5)