Show Rating:

Obie shuffles on stage and comperes for himself with a lot of cutesy self -deprecation. Jist a wee guy from Glasgow doing his first festival armed only with a few jobbie jokes and an apparently blissful ignorance of political correctness, which is all strangely refreshing.

The jobbie jokes worm their way into our collective inner child, so we giggle and obligingly hum him an introductory tune. It's Axel F, which ties neatly into the regressive tone of the set to come. For this, though, the audience must take the credit.

Further to these juvenile overtures he spends ten minutes despoiling nursery rhymes and trots out a lot of uncomfortable drivel about bestiality. Decidedly unpretentious, this is a well-travelled road, but just this once I am prepared to hitch a ride. Obie is engaging, a wee toot from Smeaton Town chancing his arm in the free festival, drawing me in in spite of myself.

Twenty minutes into an hour is something of a stretch, little aided by memory game padding and tired Michael Jackson gags. Somehow Obie can get away with this. He's got something. Admittedly it's not a show, it's an hour of building site humour and tasteless text jokes.

Personally, I prefer a little insight with my comedy and really there ain't a lot of that here, but he presents an endearing persona and a reasonable start to a night on the piss with the lads.

Reviewed by: Chloe Smith