As a comic, Amadeus lacks soul and passion, delivering his material with cold detachment and little sign of joy in his slow, measured delivery.

So ingrained is the script he so unemotionally parrots each night that he’ll make ask a theatre audience: ‘So were there bouncers on the door tonight?’ Bouncers? In a theatre? That wouldn’t be a club set so over-rehearsed that even a supposed conversational gambit can’t be changed to fit the circumstances, could it?

And when he inevitably gets heckled by that smae theatre audience – normally the most reticent of comedy crowds - his sharp clever comeback is simply: ‘Fuck you.’

There’s nothing wrong with showing contempt for your audience, if you exploit it properly, but Amadeus it just comes across as uninterested listlessness. He does tries to make himself seem edgy – but it’s only ever him who’s suggesting any controversy. He’ll ask ‘Can I say retard?’ or ‘Have I gone too far?’ when there was no sign of complaint from the audience. But maybe these are just more lines in his script he mustn’t waver from.

He has one great line, inspired by the Django Western movies, but mostly his material is as unexciting as his delivery - from starting by telling us about what famous person he looks a bit like (Trevor Nelson) to the ‘stupid warnings on products’ finale. His favourite – ‘This product does not enable you to fly’ on a child’s Superman outfit – has even been the title of a published collection of such disclaimers.

Amadeus should, perhaps, come with his own such label. ‘Warning, this comedian contains no inspiration.’