Elsewhere on the Fringe, Richard Gadd is making the same kind of revelation that closes Wayne Deakin's show the foundation of his entire, award-nominated hour.

But the Australian isn't interested in exploring the psychological impact of his experience, which he maintains is negligible, merely using it as an effective trump card for his assertion that comedians should be able to talk about whatever they want. Because who are the PC brigade to dictate what stand-up should be?

Practising what he preaches, Deakin prides himself on being straight-talking. A bit of an arsehole, sure, but just telling it like it is. Although he's very much a bloke – taking his young nephews to the races on the pretence that it's an educational trip to the zoo; empathising with David Cameron for supposedly sticking his penis into a pig after one too many drinks – you can't dismiss him as an unreconstructed Aussie stereotype.

He knows he's liberal-baiting with his endorsement of Rupert Murdoch and Prince Philip, to the extent that he's selling merchandise featuring them. But his admiration and persuasive arguments for Philip, at least, seem genuine. You also don't get to make such a crude but brilliantly inventive judgement on Boris Johnson's parentage without a fertile imagination.

Instinctively a lone wolf, happiest with his family in another hemisphere and without dependants, his attraction to women is based on opposition, be it the exotic poshness of British girls or the fact that he can justify the gender pay gap.

He never truly reveals how far his tongue is into his cheek. It's easier to get onboard with his reflex cruelty about Jeremy Corbyn's appearance than it is his concern that Sadiq Khan might ban bacon sandwiches and make Londoners join ISIS, seemingly with no other basis than the mayor being Muslim.

For such a grumbling bellyacher, you might be surprised to learn that Deakin is also a Guinness World Record holder, one of a group of intrepid comics who performed the highest ever gig at the base camp of Mount Everest recently. Despite his cynicism about the endeavour, there's some compelling insights into the hitherto unrecorded sexual aspect of scaling the world's highest peak. And he's self-deprecating about scaling back his hedonism as he enters his mid-forties.

Seemingly saving the best for last, he's got a great observational gag combining rape and terrorism that's derived from the official advice of the armed forces, daring arbiters of taste to find fault with his freedom to express it.

Catching the crowd off guard, he's not finished, though. There are nervous titters as he introduces a game of truth or dare for the male members. Without spoilers, the reported response of his friends to what he shares next is evidence enough that with the right framing and timing, you can make a joke about anything, no matter how horrible.