This wiry comic comes to Britain via Canada and Jamaica, so it comes as no surprise to find that he’s laid-back. Too laid-back, in fact. For although the unassuming delivery ensures he comes across as a nice guy, the material lacks any real punch.

His coolness of style means he doesn’t really connect with the audience, rather he riffs away quietly to himself, as if true to his jazz musician roots. But to extend the analogy, his routine is more like unobtrusive background musak that anything with heart or passion.

Quieter delivery suits stronger material, but his rambling musings never go nowhere. He introduces us to a couple of words of Jamaican patois, just for a few feeble efforts at wordplay. He talks about Nasa experiments on sex in space so he can call them, genuinely, ‘fucking astronauts’ and follow it up with a few weak ‘image what that must be like…’ type suggestions. And he talks an awful lot about penises.

His damp-squib writing, combined with a delivery that makes no impact makes for a disappointing package.