Every comic avenue is explored in his extended routines, and every performance trick in the book is employed to drive the comedy home. And damn effective it is, too.

Many comics, for instance, have an early line drawing attention to their resemblance to a celebrity, a way of getting their retaliation to inevitable hecklers in first. But McLean’s similarity to left-wing MSP Tommy Sheridan spawns a good five minutes of material that resonates with a home crowd. It’s helped, inevitably, that at the time of telling permatanned Sheridan is fighting a libel action over cocaine-snorting, five-in-a-bed sex claims, but it is still an impressive feat.

Similarly, a routine about trying to scam free veterinary treatment for his Ma’s dog shows off his gift for storytelling, speckled with fine observations and told with a playful wit. And here, as in every part of his set, he employs sound effects, accents, songs, even barking like a dog, to nail the laughs, which he does with impressive consistency.

Proof of his talent to lift material to rare heights comes with his chunk about Neds, chavs, scallies – call them what you will – which seems a staple topic for any comic seeking to identify with their city. But in McLean’s skilful hands, the obvious device of treating them like the subjects of a natural history documentary is elevated into a virtuoso performance.

There are a few minor faults: he can sometimes milk a subject too much – his recreations of Billy Connolly’s World Tour outstays its welcome – and the unnecessarily strong language that peppers his set might deter more sensitive souls. Gobby Glaswegian Des McLean can make a lot out of very little – and I mean that in a good way.

Every comic avenue is explored in his extended routines, and every performance trick in the book is employed to drive the comedy home. And damn effective it is, too.

Many comics, for instance, have an early line drawing attention to their resemblance to a celebrity, a way of getting their retaliation to inevitable hecklers in first. But McLean’s similarity to left-wing MSP Tommy Sheridan spawns a good five minutes of material that resonates with a home crowd. It’s helped, inevitably, that at the time of telling permatanned Sheridan is fighting a libel action over cocaine-snorting, five-in-a-bed sex claims, but it is still an impressive feat.

Similarly, a routine about trying to scam free veterinary treatment for his Ma’s dog shows off his gift for storytelling, speckled with fine observations and told with a playful wit. And here, as in every part of his set, he employs sound effects, accents, songs, even barking like a dog, to nail the laughs, which he does with impressive consistency.

Proof of his talent to lift material to rare heights comes with his chunk about Neds, chavs, scallies – call them what you will – which seems a staple topic for any comic seeking to identify with their city. But in McLean’s skilful hands, the obvious device of treating them like the subjects of a natural history documentary is elevated into a virtuoso performance.

There are a few minor faults: he can sometimes milk a subject too much – his recreations of Billy Connolly’s World Tour outstays its welcome – and the unnecessarily strong language that peppers his set might deter more sensitive souls.

But all-in-all, McLean has skilfully harnessed his gift of the gab to create a barnstorming set.