A theatrical framework of colour-changing luminous guitars, neon lasers, strobes, smoke and a big screen created a spectacle, but took nothing away from the power of Chris Rea’s presence on stage which was everything but showy.

There was a striking absence of idle patter; in his maturity the celebrated virtuoso shunned frippery and relied on his performance to engage his audience.

His skills were mesmerising. Demonstrably comfortable with himself, he played his guitar like it was part of him. His lyrics sung out in the big throaty voice for which he’s famous, spoke volumes.

Favourites were all there: Josephine, Julia, On The Beach, The Road To Hell – of course, and Still So Far To Go. Let’s Dance was accompanied by fabulous black and white footage of 1950s swing and bop behind Rea.

Rea went all out with his encore, predictably Driving Home For Christmas, which began with a shock of cannons shooting out snow.

After this crescendo, Rea and band left the stage and us to a film.

The prevailing uncertainty as to whether he would return left the audience restless, and when he didn’t return and the lights went up, there was an unfortunate, unavoidable sense of anti-climax.