If there’s a solid measure of stand-up’s secure place in mainstream culture, it’s the apparent increase in comedians getting invited back to their former schools to give inspirational talks to students, shaping the next generation of young minds.

For the comedian, it’s a useful stocktaking exercise, revisiting their adolescent hopes and dreams and reflecting upon how much they’ve achieved them.

For Steve Bugeja though, it’s been a distinctly mixed experience. A nerdy, precocious kid, who was deputy head boy, set up a club celebrating the Bank of England and had designs on a job in one of the higher offices of government, he thrived in the school environment,

Thanks to his beloved Maltese grandmother and her efforts to embrace British culture, though, he was also something of a sitcom nut. The pair spent hours together watching the best of the output from this country and America, long before dorky Bugeja was old enough to fully appreciate Sex And The City. 

Encouraged by his grandmother’s wretched belief in him, he aspired to write his own comedy, abandoning his plans for a ‘proper job’ as he took the leap of faith into stand-up.

Modest success followed, with the competitive Edinburgh Fringe central to spurring his ambitions. But as time went on, Bugeja found himself looking enviously at his old schoolmates, settling down with conventional jobs and earning increasingly big pay packets.

Reflecting on the popularity of get-rich, 'success porn' podcasts like The Diary Of A CEO, Bugeja masochistically imbibes them all. Yet he ultimately dismisses them, identifying the missing ingredients of attainment that they gloss over and which, he surmises, continue to elude him.

However, while he may not have had a Fleabag or Baby Reindeer poised and ready to propel him to fame, he did have a friendship with Iain Stirling. And when Love Island catapulted the Scotsman to stardom, Bugeja was right there, ready to ride his coattails.

With Stirling becoming part of the ITV firmament, the Scot was offered the sweetener of a sitcom. And so, written by the two friends, Buffering was born – a comedy about millennials struggling with adulting as they hit their 30s, featuring Bugeja’s anxieties manifested on screen, both in the script and his minor acting role. 

Elevated into showbusiness circles of rubbing shoulders with Pussycat Dolls and the Chasers, he’s drolly amusing about his fish-out-of-water experience, an adjunct to the main characters, both in his television show and life.

Those aware of Buffering’s fate won’t be too surprised at the turn events take. But Bugeja capably wrings the hubris out of them, even if, for the purposes of the story as much as his self-esteem, he possibly attaches too much clout to the status of co-writer. One might also reasonably protest at the narrow definition of success he sets up, almost entirely career-driven, with little regard for personal relationships.

However, defeated nerd has been his persona throughout his life. And he arrives at a realisation to share with the next generation of dreamers at his former school, nothing too groundbreaking but convincing and hard-earned nonetheless.

Shiny is seldom revelatory, the narrative arc too predictable for that. But Bugeja is sympathetic and relatable, a wry and engaging guide to his failings, even if ultimately, he’s not letting himself be defined by them.