A woman trumpeter was the most original addition to this jazz show.

The sparkly singer-songwriter even had a cornet up her sleeve.

Her silky voice and muted accompaniments were a class act. But next time she should up the volume to avoid being drowned out by the boozy chatter of the hens and stags.

Luckily the robust charm of host and singer for the house band, Nicki Mitchell, always grabbed attention.

Earthy talk of getting a proper job so she could afford to fix her boiler and superbly smooth renditions of jazz classics would have made Ella Fitzgerald proud. All the crooners were good.

But some performances were marred by ill-fitting lycra and dodgy Mariah Carey affectations.

An ungainly strip session opened the second half.

Girls struggled out of their kit and shook their boobs into the crowd.

This lack of finesse didn't bother the goggle-eyed throng who lapped it up at the foot of the stage.