Those who work closely with Duffy frequently allude to the singer’s use of “Duffyisms” – hitherto nonexistent words which nonetheless sum up the situation perfectly. “It’s a bloody worldwind,” runs one Duffyism that the singer is prone to repeat. She's have plenty of cause to say it tonight. Not content with bagging best pop vocal album at the Grammys last week, the 24 year’old Welsh singer stormed the Brits in almost all the major categories, including the coveted British album and and British female artist categories.

After all these years watching how the Brits work, it seemed pernicketty to address whether or not Duffy deserved every single one of the gongs she received. In a field which included albums by Radiohead, Coldplay and Elbow, her Rockferry debut (a decent if not truly great album) probably stole the honours because the other three records ended up sharing the affections of a similar demographic. Similarly, Kings Of Leon’s gratitude at their awards for best international group and international album should not detract from the fact that Only By The Night, by their standards, is probably the weakest album of their career.

But the Brits has never pretended to be anything other than a snapshot of mainstream pop at a given moment in time. And tonight threw up ample evidence that mainstream pop in 2009 is in pretty rude health right now. Easing their way into a career mid-period as five-headed national treasure, Girls Aloud encircled themselves in beefy male dancers, who fanned them with huge pink feathers as they sang The Promise. Estelle and The Ting Tings (the latter brushing off a mildly cutting aside from Kylie Minogue's co-presenters James Corden and Matthew Horne) combined forces to mix up their respective hits American Boy, Shut Up And Let Me Go and That’s Not My Name in a seamless show of pop synergy.

Pet Shop Boys cemented their influence on the current pop firmament by enlisting the assistance of The Killers’ Brandon Flowers and Lady GaGa on a stirring flurry of kits. As this year’s recipients of the Outstanding Contribution to Music Award, the venerable synth-pop duo will have been reassured to see Paul Weller prove that there is life after what Damon Albarn once referred to as the “carriage clock” award. The 50 year-old Modfather clinched Best British Male – an apt acknowledgement of the creative rebirth heralded by last year’s sprawlingly ambitious 22 Dreams.

Coldplay, who donned their now customary-French revolutionary gear to sing, will feel aggrieved that their most adventurous album Viva La Vida or Death And All His Friends received no meaningful recognition – perhaps more so for the fact that they made off with three awards at last week’s Grammys. Elbow’s late maturing into emissaries of emotionally arresting pop for grown-ups was rewarded with the gong for Best British Band. There was none of the high emotion, however, that greeted their Mercury prize, just mild, delighted bemusement that they were sharing a stage with David Hasselhoff.

However, save for Katy Perry dressing as a dominatrix liquorice allsort and exclaiming “Holy s***!” to a pre-watershed audience for Best International Female, this was a show which yielded precious few surprises. The rumoured cameo from Robbie Williams during Take That’s performance of Greatest Day didn’t materialize. When all was said and done, even the two dimensional cows grazing on chipboard grass on the left of the summery festival-themed set had a fairly good idea that this was going to be Duffy’s night.

As for Gwynned’s newly-anointed pop queen, “surprised” wasn’t the word that sprang to mind when watching her – dressed in a petite tight black dress – give three calm, seemingly rehearsed speeches. The giveaway was the first award. Surely, some of us wondered, if you really don’t know whether you stand to receive anything else, you get your thank-yous out of the way from the off? But Duffy seemed no less carried away, over an hour later as she collected her third and final statue for Best British Album. “I can’t tell you after five years what this means,” she said as Tom Jones stood beside her, looking only slightly less predatory than usual. And so she didn’t. Nevertheless, on an evening during which ten minutes rarely passed without watching her speak or sing, the night belonged to no-one else. In the middle of her own worldwind, it was peculiar poise she projected.

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