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For the past few weeks, I've been trying to avoid all adverts for the SECC show Walking with Dinosaurs.

Not just because the show might confuse my four-year-old with eyes like saucers that dinosaurs do still roam the earth, but because the ticket prices are almost as huge as the dinosaurs in the show.

But even in the midst of a recession, it seems like we're all still prepared to shell out for a show.

Perhaps there's a performance equivalent of the "lipstick index" - a sign that even in the most difficult financial times, we'll stretch to a ticket for something that cheers us up, helps us escape all those financial fears - or I suppose, now and again, gives us a better understanding of why we're all going to hell in a handcart.

Hate to mention Take That in the same blog as dinosaurs - but it's all about the same thing. Sheer unadulterated entertainment.

That's why 50,000 fans a night packed into Hampden last weekend for three nights on the trot; it's why my brothers are off headbanging to ACDC next week and yes, I give in, I'm off to see the Boss the following week.

It's hopefully a good sign, not just for the stadium shows and the outdoor performances but for the scores of festivals, big and small, which will take place across the country over the summer.

And the four-year-old got his share - with a trip to the Scooby Doo stage show. Well and truly aimed at his age group.

Think panto - "it's behind you" - and you'll get the drift. The grown-ups might grimace at some of the cornier lines - they flew right over the little ones' heads - but there's some nostalgic moments which will raise a laugh among those who remember the original series.

The cast are brilliant - particularly in the wake of all those quick-fire costume changes, and first night technical problems on the radio microphones.

And there's a lesson too for other arts organisations who're wary about tampering with traditional start times.

Most of the evening shows begin at 1830 BST - meaning tiny theatre-goers don't have to stay out too long past their bedtimes.

And going by the contented little faces packed into a sticky Kings Theatre in Glasgow on Wednesday, it seemed to pay off.