Whatever else you say about him, Charlie Chuck is a true original.

Granted, it would be easy to view him as little more than a series of gimmicks: the towering bird's nest hair, the big stick he wields, the disturbed physical tics and - of course - the off-the-wall catchphrases. Donkey! Woof-bark! I'll tell yer that!

Obviously, that is much of his charm - the familiar foibles combining into a distinctive physical caricature - but there's a lot more to this unforgettable act than that.

First and foremost, he's a grandmaster of comic timing - the set is perfectly paced, and delivered with an irresistible rhythm. It's the closest thing stand-up has to the catchy hook of a pop song.

On top of this, he is a great teller of surreal jokes - perfectly set-up and containing enough internal logic to make some sort of warped sense of the nonsensical.

Not all his gags are up to that standard, mind, and he will drift off into trite old 'doctor, doctor' jokes. It's possible this is a clever deconstruction of stand-up: that once you've got the persona, the material is irrelevant. On the other hand, they could just be appallingly bad jokes.

Add to this the barked-out non-sequiteurs, the propensity for demolishing drumkits and the sheer pleasure of such unrestrained lunacy, and you have a class act. It's not just weird for the sake of weird, though, as Chuck manages to keep it funny thanks in no small part to the fact he's so obviously having fun himself.

In all honesty, Chuck is never likely to be more than a cult. But what a fantastic cult. A throwback to the oddball acts of the music hall, he quickly gets his fans on side and makes the whole Charlie Chuck act a shared experience, leaving punters feeling that they are in on a private, but hilarious, joke.