Maybe I've got a bit of a cold coming on. Maybe I'm under the weather. Maybe I'm just miserable, but I had to grab the remote control when this show started and put the volume down - and down and down again. Am I just a grumpy killjoy, or is tonight's show especially loud, flashy and hysterical? I could hardly cope. From the opening moment when McIntyre runs out on stage with his top hat, through the "mind magic" of Colin Cloud, the high jinks of footballer Robbie Savage, and the melodious warblings of Katherine Jenkins as she sings Heroes, the whole show seemed like a sparkly assault on the senses. I put the volume down low, took some paracetamol, and then managed to cope better.

This show is so full of puppyish energy and fizzy enthusiasm that it suits Saturday night TV perfectly, and those who like to get merry with a few vodkas before heading out on the town might find this a perfect substitute for the booze because it certainly makes you giddy and fantastically keen to get out the door.