Davina Bentley @ Pleasance Courtyard

It’s OK, though. Henry VIII only started to get going when he was in his 40s and, according to Bentley, he was a style icon and a baddie. (Read: baddie as hottie, not baddie as villain, though he had that on lock too.) And here lies this show's baffling interconnecting tissue. In a bit only really acceptable at the Fringe, there are a couple of occasions where Bentley brings an audience member onstage to act out a small Tudors quiz. Other than that, though, Bentley’s hour is a slight hodge-podge of anecdotal comedy, existentialism, and being ‘just a girl’. Never does Bentley really push the envelope, although she does tease it, and that’s where this hour falls a bit flat. Bentley has the crowd completely onside a few times – there’s something about a re-enactment of a threesome delivered in London vocal fry that really gets the people going – showcasing her wonderful ability to strike the perfect balance of confidence and vulnerability.

There are also moments where Bentley’s wry wit and charm come to the fore, and her self-awareness is welcome – this is a posh white woman at the Fringe, after all. And there are a few erudite observations on subjects like Gen Z, Shoreditch graphic design bros and Vietnam that, despite the hackneyed-ness of the set up, are refreshing. But they are few. There’s also a slightly misplaced rallying cry – of self-acceptance and confidence – tacked on to the end, which, if Bentley attacked her next hour with a bit more edge, would be self-fulfilling.