Singapore Garden: 7/10

Recession? What recession. When I walked into Singapore Garden the other day, I was astounded. At 9pm, on a Wednesday night, in the midst - or at the start - of the country's first recession in 17 years, the place was mobbed. We had to wait for a table. We ordered tofu+ peanut, sea bass, spring rolls, Brussels sprouts and two virgin mojitos. The bill came to £66. Hardly a cheap night out. "You should see it on weekends," the waiter told us. "You need to book."

So the world - at least in this comfy corner of NW6 - hasn't yet come to an end. But unless you live in a St John's Wood town house and have two Bentleys in the drive, this isn't the place to come for a cheap snack on a week-night.

The Mighty Boosh: 9/10

"I don't like The Mighty Boosh." That's what I'd been telling myself in the weeks leading up to last night's show at The O2. I was wrong.

They glided or, rather, floated on stage as "Future Sailors", Vince Noir (the long-haired one beloved of prebuscant girls) in a steamboat; Howard Moon (the other one) in a dinghy.

Moon complained about being made to look a fool. Vince barracked his foil for wearing a "bovril smudge" (his tache), and for being too desperate in front of unsuspecting ladies. Moon protested. He was being persistent - appearing in the girl's room in the night as the ghost of her deceased father was not in any way freaky. All Moon wanted to do was to take her to see Kenny G. Girls want "Kings of Leon", not Kenny G, said Vince. Cue disarmingly accurate impression of the Kings by Vince, which had the 10,000-plus crown in stitches.

And it just got better with Hitcher - "the green cockney nutjob" - stealing the show with his impromptu walkabout around the arena. The pre-pubescants (see above) groped him as he walked buy - "that's like reverse paedophilia"; he high-fived a few lucky campers, and even gave one girl a kiss, before hauling his creaking body on stage to praise his crow-on-a-stick for not having anally raped the whole crowd with his beak (it was funnier when The Hitcher said it) and singing a song about eels.

There were a couple of disappointments - the double-act's support hitting a bum-note with his peurile "Mad Lizzie" character - "feed those chickens"; "run those nips"; and the second-half wasn't nearly as funny as the first (prompting me to nod off during part of it). But even the bits that went wrong - Bollo the guerrilla knocking over the globe; Mr Harrison (the pink octopus) hanging onto to the leather sofa he was stuffed into with his adam's apple - were hilarious.

And so, it is with much regret, that I must admit to being a convert. I may well be buying a powerful shrub in the New Year.