Pashley is clearly a chatty girl, and a chatty comic. She eases her way gently into her set with a few pleasantries, and that pretty much sets the tone. Her routines are cheerfully anecdotal, and her observations based on the mundanities of life or the reminiscences of childhood.

But all this soft Northern charm belies a certain biting edge. The amiable path often leads to a sharp punchline, with an appealing element of nastiness frequently lurking behind them. Turns out she hates children, she started seeing her boyfriend when he was still married, and her family were as cynical as she has turned out to be.

Yet it’s not overly mean, with herself just as likely the butt of the joke – whether for her stupidly inviting a stranger to her house because of her chronic arachnophobia or for the shameful confessions of shopping at Lidl. She is, at least from the evidence of her own stories, slightly scary and odd. Batty out of Hull, you could say.

It’s hard to judge the effect of her baggy delivery on the material. While such loose attention to structure proves a velvet glove for the iron fist of her contempt, the flip side is that, technically, it’s inefficient, slowing down the gag rate for the sake of what could be seen as padding.

Regardless of this, she’s a lot more impressive than a first glance might have you believe. And while she lacks the killer punches that would make her a top-flight headliner, she’s certain a more-than-solid mid-table act.