Review by Steve Bennett

A regular compere, he describes himself as a suburban comic, and that’s unfortunately accurate: for he’s pleasant and functional, but also rather unremarkable and bland. A Wimpey home of stand-up, with too few distinguishing features.

He’s got a small handful of decent gags, often loosely based on his family and background, but just not enough to go around. And the conversation that fills the rest of the space between them isn’t particularly compelling, as he talks about such hot topics as the number of late-night chicken takeaways in his London neighbourhood. It ambles along reasonably enough, but there’s nothing especially memorable to the chat; never a strong enough angle or distinctive enough point of view.

He does have one staple theatrical anecdote from his days working backstage that might pass muster: about an audience member who died in the front row one night. However the authenticity has to be questioned given that, the night Chortle saw him tell this tale, his account had the cast singing songs from Phantom Of The Opera… when he started by telling us the incident happened during Mary Poppins.

It’s a terrible irony for a man whose own set is so easily forgettable.

Review date: 4 Dec 2008
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett