‘Hello, my name is Stuart, and I’ve got problems.’ So Hudson sets up his sociopathic stage persona - a deranged stalker-stoke-flasher who’s just as likely stab you as pass the time of day.

He looks the part, too, physically imposing but shabby and unkempt, with a killer’s air of detachment from society. You can almost believe his claims to have come straight out of jail.

He’s not the first comic to take the stand-up’s default position as the outsider and push it to the extremes of criminal immorality, and because of that, some of his lines seem obvious and predictable – from the ‘…and so I stabbed her’ punchline to the restraining orders from the reluctant object of his obsessive interest.

His emotionally distant stance – though crucial to the sinister image he’s projecting – does him no favours either, presenting an almost insurmountable barrier between him and the audience.

But Hudson partially overcomes these self-imposed handicaps with some sterling material. Not quite consistently, but there are enough dark asides and unpredictable puns adorning the moody patter to demonstrate plenty of potential as a writer. They don’t always get the reaction they deserve, such is the cold exterior, but the best are certainly of a quality many a comic would envy.

A mixed bag, then, of the inspired and the mundane – if anyone posing as a recently-released life could be described that way – but he has more than enough imaginative lines to be worth a listen.