Does Amy Gledhill look fit on her poster? Maybe, but ‘ridiculous’ is probably a word you’d reach for first, given her preposterously massive haystack of crimson hair piled atop a highly made-up porcelain-doll face. And surely ‘ridiculous’ is what you want in a comedian.

Yet even as a funny woman rightly confident of her comedy talents, she can’t escape insecurities about the way she looks. They’re not crippling, and she suggests she largely gets on with life without giving them a second thought, but now and again doubts creep in.

Ultimately, she doesn’t quite know what to do about it, or even how much it’s an issue – an honest nuance, even if shows are inevitably stronger when their core opinion is more clearly defined. 

By way of demonstrating the awkward truth about the importance attached to appearances, she asks a punter how he’d describe her. The embarrassment is palpable before she lets him off the hook – she’s far too gregarious an act to make anyone squirm for long.

Although not fully comfortable with the way she looks, Gledhill is absolutely willing to own the ludicrous things she’s done, dissipating any possible shame by sharing the story with the audience. ‘I don’t mind telling you…’ is a repeated phrase before joyfully regaling us with all the stupid details.

Needing to get rescued from a Go Ape activity centre is lovely story recreating her cringe, made even more hilarious by her creating a whole new grammar around the word ‘ape’ as a verb.

Elsewhere, she gets into a gloriously inane conversation with a Hollywood A-lister, is caught naked by her neighbours and gets assaulted by a massage chair – hilariously mimed out with expert physical comedy as she tries to conceal her terror behind the serenity the gizmo is supposed to instil.

Her exuberant personality – effectively employed from the get-go in an icebreaking skit that boosts her ego and supercharges the audience’s energy – isn’t always the best fit with the more serious aspects. But the gear shift when all that confidence evaporates during a troubling incident on a train is impactful, and throws into sharp contrast her usually suppressed inner doubts and her irrepressible stage persona.

However, Gledhill remains at her best when being playfully joyous and silly –and hopefully that joie de vivre is the best way to conquer those peskily persistent insecurities.