After spending two years working on a new album, The Story Goes ... and licking his wounds following the tepid success of his last release and failure to crack the American market, Craig David must be worrying about his relaunch into pop orbit. After all, at a time when James Blunt is the biggest star in Britain, being a talented singer doesn't ensure anything.

Maybe that's why David spends as much time chatting as he does warbling during this one-off show. Apparently desperate to separate the man from the lampooned image, he suffers from symptoms of what could be called "David's disease", a condition in which a white, unsoiled Adidas-clad foot is repeatedly shoved into the mouth.

Keen to ally himself to the London crowd, he waxes lyrical about terrorists. When you're in a beautiful venue, on a beautiful night like this, it tells them to "fuck off", he announces, bizarrely.

Cringing discussions about inspiration follow. He introduces anti-bullying ode, Johnny, with the reassurance: "You see me on TV or hear me on the radio, but I've experienced those things."

But David is less Mr Loverman and more bucket-shop lothario than ever. He possesses, as Douglas Adams once put it, "as much sex appeal as a road accident". When he implores a girl to Take 'Em Off as a prelude to passion, his politeness acts as a contraceptive in itself.

David works incredibly hard, however. Every note is perfect, and the safe, boy-band, soul of Don't Love You No More (I'm Sorry) is sweet enough. But although David's groin-grabbing antics are enough to elicit screams from the front row, it's only Fill Me In and Rewind that create ripples of excitement behind them.