Few comedy shows are so elegantly constructed as Ania Magliano’s account of settling into her first relationship serious enough to move in together. 

It’s a masterclass in creating a narrative, with each segment subtly feeding into a bigger picture that slowly builds up, making connections to previously dropped clues. The word ‘callback’ seems too blunt to describe the process.

Cohabiting brought out the worst in the comedian, though she doesn’t always admit as much when she regales us with the anecdotes. She knows cyber-stalking her partner’s ex is probably wrong, but we all do it, right? 

And when she tells of various arguments she’s had with her boyfriend, fellow comic Will Rowland of the Crizards double act, the difference between the moral high ground she thinks she’s occupying and reality provides a little nugget of tension: does she know she’s being unreasonable? Separately, a routine describing how irate she gets about brushing her teeth probably hints at deeper happiness issues.

Magliano’s always finding external factors to blame things on rather than attribute it to her personality, so when she does finally accept she might be becoming quarrelsome, blame is laid on her contraceptive coil. However, removing it proves much more challenging than anyone thought.

Lest segments like this get too much for the men in the room, Magliano’s got them covered – in a cheeky way that’s rather clever in its stupidity. 

She seems to be a totem for her generation of twentysomethings. That she admits she exudes vegan, non-binary and bisexual vibes might be proof enough of that, even though only the last one is actually true. However, a better label may be sapiosexual, attracted to intelligence rather than gender. 

Her comedy is as smart as it is eloquent – even though she takes TikTok to be the fount of all knowledge, so there are definitely blind spots in this Cambridge graduate’s acumen. But over the hour, her stance shifts from self-absorption to self-awareness, and she takes a big step towards figuring herself out.

Magliano has some clever jokes, too, though the emphasis is on the storytelling ahead of the laughs, so they’re slightly rationed. A few routines that could be (and probably are) standalone stand-up bits help redress the balance a bit, especially one about an intimidating mains-powered vibrator so powerful you can imagine all the lights in her house flickering as she switches it on.

But as we become increasingly invested in the state of the comedian’s relationship – and the location of her coil  – the narrative pieces glide into place, and we realise how satisfying the journey has been.