Tom Robinson

Before diving into the back catalogue, however, he proudly introduced a brief set from Gabrielle Sey, a performer blessed with an angelic voice. She nearly didn't make it either – a flat tyre adding to the obstacles challenging the evening – but thankfully turned up in time to present her new single Colourblind. With a vocal style that complemented her angst filled lyrics – why do you make me feel so low – it was the highlight of a set that further explored fragility in GIRL, Vapour and Break My Silence. With a winning, giggly personality that belied her sober material, and not forgetting a shout out to Auntie Dorothy, it was over far too soon. Don't take my word for it, though. When Tom Robinson reappeared he insisted on an encore, during which he sat on his piano stool, looking on like a proud uncle.

Once Gabrielle was finally allowed to leave the stage, she was replaced by Adam Philips, who has played with Robinson, both in his eponymous band, and as a duo. Together, their set kicked off with a reworked "Fifty", an age, Robinson explained, that felt old when he wrote it in the nineties. Now a  septuagenarian considering genuine old age, it wasn't the only song to be reworked, but more of that later. Equally poignant was his choice of Beatles cover – You've Got to Hide Your Love Away – a timely reminder that not so very long ago being gay could get you locked up. How joyous that, by way of contrast, Glad to Be Gay is now a jolly singalong, with which the first set drew to a close. Before the break we had his contribution to Elton John's canon, the haunting Blood Brothers and some truly awful Dad Jokes from Philips. Less successful was the hastily engineered backing track to compensate for his injury. Full marks, though, for at least attempting If I Had My Chance, perhaps more appropriately titled If I Had My Finger, in a rejigged setlist that worked around the lack of his signature guitar in various imaginative ways.

Not least of which was Philips's sterling work on the ukulele in the second half for, appropriately, Up Against the Wall. Not a version I imagine they'll revisit in a hurry, but typical of the self-deprecating good humour in which adversity was met. They fought manfully through War Baby – which could hardly be left out the set – and not entirely successfully, but otherwise the keyboard/guitar combo offered up an intriguing new spin on the otherwise familiar. Very much a gathering of the clan, Robinson ran through a list of anecdotes – Odean, Irish Pub – keen to give the regulars something new. He gave up in the end, settling on the much repeated, but funniest, one about peanuts in which he showcased an impressive Texan drawl. Poignancy did rear its head again occasionally, most noticeably his dedication of Too Good to Be True to the late Danny Kustow, but the overwhelming emotion was celebratory, albeit tempered by righteous anger evident in the reworked Days which closed the evening.

It was one of three songs in an extended encore that, of course, included 2-4-6-8 Motorway, but also the infamous Martin, with its obligatory audience participation during which, without exception, his devoted audience seemed to know exactly what to do. One step away from being a proper fan, it was all a bit bewildering for me. But the warmth that bounced back and forth between performers and audience – in the moment, as Robinson put it – was, in these troubled times, something to behold and treasured.