Michael McIntyre

The posh lad in a Calvin Klein suit is often a bit of a tiring concept. Indeed, many in the audience visibly slump when the perfectly coiffed Michael McIntyre skips his jolly way on stage. One middle-aged gentleman of a Scottish persuasion even goes so far as to comment, “You aren’t what I expected. Comedians are meant to wear jeans and a T-shirt.”

So as the collective mentally prepares itself for “I’m a Tory Boy! Look at me!” you can’t help but feel sorry for the comedian with the least convivial audience outside Late ‘n’ Live. But this is no ordinary ponce. As McIntyre begins his highly physical comedy, thoughts of cold-blooded murder soon leave the minds of the battle-hardened crowd. Although, of course, the set includes more than a passing reference to class divides, the material is fresh and engaging: rather than taking the toffee-nosed upper ground, dispensing condescending quips and jibes, McIntyre easily convinces the audience that being posh is actually an affliction.

Leaving aside some rather well-worn references to the Glasgow airport attack – the already battered, “Don’t get in the way of a Scotsman with a holiday booked,” for one – McIntyre’s satire is both accessible and amusingly scathing. With some exceptional material on the recent disclosure that Gordon Brown is blind in one eye, political observation nestles snugly against a couple of revelatory fart jokes. After an hour of incessant action and jostling, the sole question left for audience members is what to do with the empty bottle they were planning to throw on stage.