These straitened times are making it tougher for charities. Comic Relief just reported that last week’s Red Nose Day donations are well down, and at the annual comedy fundraiser for the Teenage Cancer Trust last night, the whole top tier of seating at the Royal Albert Hall, and the standing level, lay empty. That’s more than 1,000 people who missed out on a night of A-grade stand-up.

It started with host Alan Carr, as buoyant and as camp as ever. He’s forever being likened to old-school comics such as Frankie Howerd or Larry Grayson – and when he offhandedly flirts with one man in the audience with the line ‘Close your legs, it’s rude to point’ – he does nothing to dispel those comparisons.

But the Chatty Man, who professes to hate being camp, adds to that superficiality a candour about his private life, near-the-knuckle gags about the likes of Rose West, and upbeat messages on the likes of tackling homophobia that makes his gag-rich comedy far more appealing and interesting.

The breakdown of his marriage has been well-documented, with his ex, Paul Drayton, an alcoholic who was handed a 14-week jail term last year for drink-driving. Carr’s approach is to see the funny side – revelling in the rare bad-boy edge that having a ‘prison husband’ gave him, rather than exploiting the drama of the situation.

Carr first introduced Russell Kane, aggressively pacing the sizeable stage like a man trying to get his Fitbit steps in.

At one point of audience interaction, the comic – ever one for self-commentary - noted: ‘It might not be funny, but it’s speedy’. But he does himself a disservice. Sure, the energy of his hyperkinetic performance sells his material hard, but he’s got the punchlines to back it.

Here he waded into the culture war, which may be common stand-up territory these days, but Kane nails it well. Just as purposefully as his takes both sides of the stage, he takes on both sides of the argument. Yes, young people can be irritating in their delicate snowflakery, but they are fighting the good progressive fight. And what’s on the other side? A 60-year-old bloke whose only joy in life seems to be grumbling that you can’t say anything any more?

Kane’s wide-ranging set also covered boys’ minds being polluted by hardcore porn and the Holodomor, the Soviet-induced famine that killed millions of Ukrainians. Yet the message was consistent: be kind, but be tough too.

Rosie Jones represents a massive change of pace, if not enthusiasm. Indeed, so excited was she to be on the Royal Albert Hall’s historic stage (‘a dream come true’) that she took a tumble in her rush to get on to it. But she was sanguine. Quoting that great stoic philosopher Chumbawamba she commented: ‘I get knocked down, but I get up again’.

That cheery defiance defined her set, cheekily waggling  two fingers at expectations that might be imposed on her – and especially the critics who complain about her newfound TV ubiquity. Her response is to list  some programmes her cerebral palsy would definitely make her unsuitable for, and very witty it was too.

The least-known name on the bill was Fatiha Al-Ghorri - though there was nothing in her assured set to indicate she was the least experienced comic here. From the Far East (of London) and a big Moroccan family, she has a forthright attitude that  shatters any stereotypes of a passive hijab-wearing Muslim woman. Instead, she defines herself as a ‘feisty cow’ in a funny, pacy and fascinating set that takes in unexpected material from Love Island to her two divorces.

Nostalgia is a comedy failsafe, but Harry Hill brilliantly made it his own with a joyfully absurd take on his 1970s childhood, dangerously free of health and safety diktats and with a surprising number of paedophiles on primetime TV. The sterling material is given an extra teasing edge as he gloats at youngsters, never able to get their hands on a house like his generation of oldies.

Hill defies his 56 years with a glorious physicality, including a daft bit of business with the mic stand and a delightfully extravagant bit of sock-based slapstick that wouldn’t be out of place in the golden age of visual comedy. It was a fabulously entertaining end to the first half.

And to open the second, Neil Delamere was almost as strong with a more conventional stand-up set. He struck a strong cord of relatability with routines about WhatsApp, weight-loss TV shows and Ryanair, giving recognisable observations an exaggerated, ridiculous twist.

The savvy Irishman might not have been known to most of this London audience before he stepped on stage (compared to back home, where he’s even been on Dancing With The Stars),  but he’ll have won plenty of fans with his polished, yet natural, wit conveyed with a smart sense of timing.

By comparison, Slim – who seemed to have the longest set of the night – appeared a bit more workmanlike. There’s no doubt he’s a stylish performer, in charismatic control of the stage and the audience, which made the most of his stories about terrible school nativities or a child’s dumb injury. But the appealing presentation wasn’t backed by much substance.

He also seemed oddly deaf to the mood of the night with stock jokes slagging off teenagers as feckless, lazy and smelly –  which struck an uncomfortable note, especially coming so soon after the post-interval fundraising video and on-stage appearance by several cancer survivors that told the audience how awesome that generation could be.

Finally, Seann Walsh, bursting on to stage with an urgent, fretful intensity that matched the anxiety he feels from living in London. It’s a bit reminiscent of Michael McIntyre’s  energy, but far more chaotic, in keeping with the Shambles Walsh portrays his life to be.

No mention of *that* kiss that dominated the headlines during his time on Strictly – he’s done two shows based on that and its aftermath now, so time to move on. Instead he talked about being reluctantly sober for four years and being a new father, including a graphically exaggerated description of having sex with his heavily pregnant partner, easily funny enough to overcome the ‘ick’ factor that he plays up.

Walsh also proves himself a very adept physical comedian, with a beat-perfect act-out of the humiliation we’ve all experienced: of going upstairs on a double-decker bus, only to find it full.

If only the upstairs of the Royal Albert Hall would have had such problems, thousands more would have been raised for the Teenage Cancer Trust. (You can donate here). Instead, the comics had to do with raising the roof.

• All photos: Naomi Dryden-Smith