Tamika Campbell is a fizzing ball of New York energy and rage. She talks as fast and as furious as Joan Rivers, and has a fierce attitude to match, even if she can’t match the veteran’s caustic one-liners.

The result is a relentless, feisty, frequently foul-mouthed tirade that’s exhausting just to watch. On the rare occasion Campbell does take breath, she’s almost guaranteed a laugh of release – relief at a momentary pause in the otherwise unflinching delivery.

Her material is as raw as her style, frequently base and always unsophisticated. It’s a real disappointment she doesn’t use her passion for better aims than to discuss airport security, or farting, or punning useless George Bush with her bush, or about how men don’t understand periods…

When, as her rant crescendos to a climax, she throws open her dress to reveal her underwear – to make the contrived point that this, apparently, is how we’ll have to board airliners in the future – it strikes a note of ‘try anything for shock’ desperation. Though you can’t deny it gets a reaction.

If only the content of her set had the originality and bite to capitalise on her undeniably magnetic delivery, it would be worth paying her the attention she so easily demands.