Never has a show been so misnamed. This is, sadly, one of the more shallow offerings on the Fringe – with watered-down versions of almost every bog-standard stand-up routine doing the rounds. Isn’t that Heat magazine dreadful? Isn’t religion ridiculous? You know, I think that war in Iraq is over oil, not democracy…

Francesca Martinez made a splash when she started doing comedy, not least because it’s very rare to see a comedian with cerebral palsy. But it’s been five years since her last Fringe appearance, and she hasn’t moved on, or even kept up.

She has got a good reason, mentioned in the show, as she suffered chronic fatigue and consequently spent quite a lot of time in bed. But a full-length show in the glare of the Fringe is an ill-advised way to get back on the scene after such a long, enforced absence; you need a stint back on the circuit to warm-up first.

If she’d done that, she would surely have realised there’s more to being a social commentator than calling George Bush thick. 'Hard-hitting' and 'tackling taboos, it had said in the blurb...

One gag relies on the assumption that New Labour are just like the Tories – a bog-standard thought in the late-Nineties; but a decade on and the fact that tables are turned as ‘New Tories’ emulate Labour seems to have passed her by. Similarly dated and unfunny is her telling how she took flying lessons… and ploughed into the World Trade Center.

Martinez has a compelling stage presence, but that is not enough to hold an audience’s attention in a stifling room for an hour when all you have is the unexciting material of the most derivative open spot at your disposal.

Reviewed by: Steve Bennett