An odd little event this, with probably the most arrestingly crass title in the Fringe programme. Tucked away in the upper room of the pub, we sat in a curve focused on Mac Starr, part performer, part workshop leader. Having been picked for a reviewer I was not asked why I had come to the show, although everybody else was.

A couple of the men had their own experience of testicular cancer, the women were mainly partners of the men or friends of Mac and this getting-to-know-you compering session, where all the women were described as 'beautiful ladies' (plainly we were not) and the co-sufferers were embraced as pals or others saluted as new friends gave a fairly queasy start to the show.

It is good to see that you can have had testicular cancer and still enjoy rude good health, even before getting the five-year all clear. Starr is one of the 1 in 25 who don't lose their hair to chemo, and luckily it did not seem that it knocked the stuffing out of him, like most others.

Maybe it was too soon for Starr to be writing what could be a searing and personal piece (apparently he only got fitted with his 'kinder-ball' in April), so he has produced a determinedly upbeat and chatty show, which seemed to tell all and say nothing at the same time.

His frequently referenced 'comedy brain' was obviously telling him that the audience need to be given a role, such as suggesting what would be put in an empty testicle socket. I can understand that this relentless cheeriness disguised a fear of the dark, the frequent forays into the audience perhaps to ensure they were with him, even to the extent that we were all individually acknowledged at the exit. Ew, clingy.

If you set out to think of every cliché you could involving cancer, puns involving balls, prosthetic testicles, medical procedure (more Carry On than Casualty), pioneering prosthetic treatment, with a good dose of sentimentality around abandoning partners, plucky eight-year-old leukaemia sufferers, kids who say the cutest things, fortuitous phone calls from estranged parents, and doing work for charidee you could probably have a shot at writing this yourself, balls or no balls.

He's a fairly engaging, speedy performer with some OK ad libs, and at no point do you feel this is a 'poor me' show, but the constant making light of the experience sacrificed a potentially powerful, darkly humourous hour to glib trivialisation.

Julia Chamberlain