Tonight The Fly swaps scum-splattered skinny jeans and wasted scenesters for a visit to the home of the English Folk Dance & Song Society; a beautiful venue tucked away down back roads near Regent’s Park, where people with beige tote bags sit politely on plastic chairs and chat in moderate tones. Downstairs there’s even a café with gingham check tablecloths where you can scoff tea and cakes while thumbing through The Guardian. Never has a Saturday night in Camden felt so civilised.

And Cecil Sharp House is the perfect, intimate setting for this rare London appearance from Glasgow indie pop legends Butcher Boy. Following a sparse set from Darren Hayman, who delivers his funny, fucked-up love songs accompanied solely by baby grand and muted trumpet, the headliners sidle across the wooden floor onto the tiny stage; soon filling the space completely with guitars, drums, keyboards and a mini string section. Notoriously shy lead singer and principal songwriter John Blain Hunt looks a bundle of nerves as he removes his specs and approaches the microphone to welcome us to a venue he has always dreamed of playing.

But any pre-show jitters are surely alleviated by the adoring response Butcher Boy receive tonight. The crowd gaze starry eyed as the outfit deliver a career-spanning set; from ‘Profit In Your Poetry’ favourites such as ‘Girls Make Me Sick’, ‘I Could Be In Love With Anyone’, ‘Days Like These Will Be The Death of Me’ and ‘Keep Your Powder Dry’ to gorgeous highlights from both ‘React Or Die’ and latest offering ‘Helping Hands’. It’s hard to pick standout moments as the whole performance is dreamy, but ‘When I’m Asleep’, ‘This Kiss Will Marry Us’, ‘Russian Dolls’, ‘Carve A Pattern’, ‘Anything Other Than Kind’, ‘The Day Our Voices Broke’ and ‘I Am The Butcher’ in particular show Butcher Boy’s talent for captivating storytelling and soaring melodies that get feet tapping and people gleefully jigging in their seats.

Butcher Boy are an “our little secret” type of band, so the fact that they’ve been releasing perfect poetic pop records for five years without fuss or fanfare and remained largely overlooked by the mainstream is merely a bonus for fans, and you suspect for Hunt and co. too. It means they can put on one-off, exceptional little gigs like this that leave those in the know whooping and hollering for more while outside Camden kicks up its usual late-night rock ‘n’ roll rammy. Everyone’s happy.