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About a decade ago, I didn't like Nick Revell's act much: too political for my taste. Now I like it, as he has combined the best of both worlds. He includes routines on Iraq and suicide bombers, but he also jokes about the weather, sport, Edinburgh and everyday things of less obvious import. Less preaching, more craft.

The experience of the years was visible in his smooth handling of a drunk in the audience and, for Fringe audiences, the definite bonus of his being able to pull off a good Scottish accent.

In fact, a whole array of spot-on characterisations are near-effortlessly integrated into his routine. If anything, his delivery was perhaps slightly too softly measured, and he risked losing excitement to offer easy assimilation of the material to a full audience. But there was also, surprisingly, the occasional jar as Nick jumped without perfect links between subjects.

The observation that Blair's relationship with Bush has made Britain the international equivalent of Maxine Carr had an iron fist inside the velvet voice. Now 46, he could risk showing a little more of the anger I'm sure he still feels.