The bald gentleman sitting behind us had had enough.

"I would rather be castrated with a cheese grater than listen to any more of this rubbish", he said, and with that he breathed one last waft of halitosis in our direction, picked up his fancy lady and made for the exit, leaving three quarters of a bottle of Moet undrunk on his table. We all breathed a sigh of relief.

  The scene was legendary jazz club Ronnie Scott's, last week, where two young jazz groups - the delightful Curios and the bracingly avant-garde Polar Bear - were making their debuts. The departure of said gentleman, who spent Polar Bear's set emitting burps and such comments as "cheer up you miserable bastards", felt like a victory for the forces of jazz-good against the forces of jazz-bad - and Lord knows there have been few of these in recent years.

It is generally agreed that Ronnie Scott's has lost its mojo ever since Sally Green took it over in 2005 and gave it an expensive refurbishment (£2.38 million to place a pillar in front of every table).

The Standard's jazz critic, Jack Massarik, was briefly banned after he wrote a piece compaining about its high prices, loss of atmosphere and disastrous bookings policy. Under Greene's owneship, and the artistic directorship of Leo Green, who departed at the end of last year, Ronnie's has pitched itself at people like our bald friend, who spend lots of money on champagne and talk over the jazz as they try to seduce their secretaries. The fact that the well-known jazz legend Craig David played there says a lot.

But the booking of two young English bands for three nights last week seemed a welcome step back in the right direction, even if playing a cymbal with a violin bow (as Polar Bear did) wasn't to everyone's tastes.

However, the front of house staff were off-message, scarcely disguising their disgust at the younger, less flash clientele the bands brought in; on point of principle, Polar Bear only agreed to play if Ronnie's reduced their standard ticket price of £35.

In the old days - when I actually didn't have much cash but enjoyed £10 student tickets, now discontinued - I remember being thoroughly charmed by the maitre d', who would reward everyone simply for having the good taste to drop by.

By contrast, last week, the front-of-house staff tutted us in the direction of the worst table in the place, nearly exploded when we moved without asking permission, then again when we failed to order anything very expensive.

Making them listen to a cymbal being played with a violin bow for three consecutive evenings seems a good way to begin their punishment.