If Dido hadn't emerged at about the same time, it could have been Nerina Pallot out there representing the nation whenever a fluttery English rose is required at big-ticket events. Her quietly emphatic songs would have been ideal at, say, Live8, sandwiched between male counterparts Coldplay and Keane (a configuration to fuel some very prim fantasies). There's no real reason why her 2001 debut, Dear Frustrated Superstar, didn't win the pianos-at-dawn battle with Dido's No Angel. Maybe Dido just had better highlights.

To which end, Pallot isn't leaving anything to chance at this show; she's been glossed, waxed and poured into a shimmery satin dress, which is complemented by a glittering gold guitar strap. Well, given the weight of expectation (of the 275 people here, anyway), every little helps. But this is a big night in more ways than one; it is Pallot's first London headlining show since her new album, Fires, came out in April but it is also, she reveals, the first time she has played this basement steamroom "and not been completely drunk". Pallot mentions this several times during the night, so it is obviously a milestone.

And what does a sober Nerina Pallot have to offer? Apart from raw nerves and a corresponding tendency to say hello to every member of her family, she is a personable performer. Articulate in a way that is depressingly rare among musicians, she quickly wins over the crowd, even those who are not family members. Her set, comprised of bits of both albums, is straightforward songwriterly fare about the life and times of a Jersey girl with arty tendencies. The only surprise is her preoccupation with death; there are at least three songs centred on refrains like "Life is short, and we're all gonna die". Listening to this, prettily sung or not, you're itchily aware of being in the middle of a tense West End, in a little room with only one exit. Thanks for that, Nerina. Now I know why Dido made it big.