There is one particular moment of surprise stupidity in Lorna Rose Treen’s debut hour guaranteed to have you laughing for its sheer ‘WTF just happened?’ audacity. And that comes despite this giddy sketch comedian setting a very high bar for daftness.

The sense of her being an overgrown child gleefully rifling through the dressing-up box is underscored by the fact her set comprises a giant, overflowing laundry basket from which Treen emerges. That and the fact her first alter-ego is actually a nine-year-old child who’s signed up to the Brownies, an organisation she treats with the same loyalty, gravity and determination a battle-hardened SAS veteran would show to their regiment. 

That this recurring character, familiar from Treen’s online videos, is inadequate and delusional starts the closest thing to a thematic thread running through the show’s outsider oddballs – though don’t go looking too deep for connections; most are just silly cartoon-like ideas (the woman with guns for hands, anyone?) played out to extremes even more ridiculous than the starting point.

She has a bit of a penchant for cheesy dad jokes: ‘I was a housewife, but it was not rewarding to be married to a house,’ her noirish femme fatale purrs as she rotates a never-ending selection of elegant cigarettes across her lips. We all know it’s cheap and dumb, that’s the joy. Even when such gags wear thin - which they do occasionally - Treen’s celebratory air and sheer vim see us through.

The vamp and the Brownie won her two Funny Women awards last year, and it’s clear the double victory was no fluke, with this parade of surreal vignettes, each different from the last. 

Her creations range from an entirely fictional version of Normal People author Sally Rooney, playing up the Oirishness, to a dolphin catching its reflection in a mirror, demonstrating a flair for more restrained physical comedy compared to the recklessness of her other performances. Then there’s the Australian PE teacher who instigates an audience game that’s a glorified pass-the-parcel, again spreading that childish sense of fun, recalling a time when being stupid rarely had consequences.

While Treen loves making the most of the complete ridiculousness of all her surreal ideas, there are a couple of quickies, too, such a glorious solo recreation of the Titanic sinking (at least I think that’s what it was) or a snapshot caricature of a stylish, well-spoken woman on the verge of Swinging Sixties London – both apropos of nothing.

A song for girls who identify as weird sums up the ethos of Treen’s joyous comedy - that we should celebrate the misfits as, by definition, they will never be average. That certainly applies to her.