Ray O'Leary @ Pleasance Courtyard

Within seconds, Ray O’Leary lets out a nervous 'Oh No' as he pushes up his glasses and frantically touches his scraggly hair. The anxious energy is set in place from the beginning and is wonderfully upheld for an hour of gags, where very quickly you are enraptured by both the strength of the comic’s material and his shambolic persona. 

The unique persona certainly feeds into the first five minutes, which sees O’Leary getting diagnosed with autism by a passing woman on the street, thanking him for his representation. But once this bit concludes, your focus resides entirely on the wordplay and scenarios O’Leary continuously conjures up. 

That opening addresses the elephant in the room, but as the focus relocates to philosophy, 9/11 and care homes, you see O’Leary in his element. Despite the neurotic and self-deprecating delivery, there is complete control throughout the performance, as the slow, calculated musings trickle out in a delicate, considered manner.

His droll meandering is a welcome change of pace at the Fringe and while many ventures benefit from each breath and pause, there are cases where this can work against O’Leary, leaving ample time for the audience to reach the punchline of his more well-trodden jokes before the performer presents it.

Between his delivery and the sheer quality of the gags, this show is a wonderfully comforting hour, with an inherently nostalgic and cosy feel. That is not to say the material is ever safe, as some of the edgier material is immediately disarming, causing palpable contrast to the more trodden path that O’Leary usually takes us down.

Laughter, I Hardly Know Her is a perfect title for Ray O’Leary’s second Fringe show, as it’s immediately clear he’s a jokesmith in the quintessential, vintage sense.

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Ray O'Leary: Laughter, I Hardly Know Her, Pleasance Courtyard (Beside), until 24 Aug, 6.05pm, £10-15