With Coldplay and The Killers nominated in a total of five categories at this year’s Brits, it seemed inconceivable that, between them, the two bands wouldn’t emerge from Earls Court with one or two trophies.

And with that in mind, what better way to celebrate than to join forces in aid of War Child and triumphantly bash out a few tunes? In the end, both bands emerged empty-handed.

If you had to guess which of the two groups might be most affronted by the perceived ignominy, chances are you would plump for The Killers’ ambitious Flowers over Coldplay’s congenitally self-deprecating Chris Martin. Oh, we of little faith.

As it turned out, it was the slender black-clad Flowers who raced out onto a stage far smaller than his Las Vegas quartet have had to play in recent memory, buzzing with a life-force that could light the streets of a small market town.

The reason for his good cheer was literally staring him in the face. In the centre of the balcony Pet Shop Boys’ Neil Tennant gazed on proudly as The Killers delivered riotously joyful versions of hits such as Somebody Told Me and Mr Brightside.

An hour previously, at the BRITS, Flowers had presented his teenage idols The Pet Shop Boys with their outstanding achievement award and duetted with them on It’s A Sin.

As a marker of ambitions realised, this must have been as real – not to mention more enjoyable – than any award. And it showed. Towering over a drum kit that barely contained the energy he unleashed on it, drummer Ronnie Vanucci was a picture of merry catharsis as, just for once, a perpetually grinning Flowers swapped imperiousness for puppyish wide-eyed glee.

He paid fulsome tribute to Coldplay by declaring that, years ago, “the first time we heard this band… we felt we were in with a chance [too].”

When Coldplay finally materialized in the early hours of the morning, any similar attempts to take positives out of their Brits snub were conspicuous by their absence. “We just came back from Japan, we lost at the Brits, it’s been a s**t day,” said Martin.

And yet, as he bounded about the stage like a wired, punch-drunk Tigger repeatedly attempting to get back up after another rain of blows, you wondered if there was a link between the ramshackle brilliance of Coldplay’s set and the body language of a band, dressed in their customary battle gear, with a newly-sharpened point to prove.

They could have hardly done so in more empathetic surroundings. “Shall we play this one? It’s a little commercial,” said Martin as he donned acoustic guitar for Yellow.

He turned the microphone to face the audience, but even he seemed startled by the word-perfect clarity with which his words were sung back to him – so much so that he barely attempted to chip in.

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