Once seen, never forgotten, Doktor CocaColaMcDonalds cuts quite a figure in his skimpy leotard, or maybe just his pants, his face smeared with badly applied clown make-up and his unkempt hair a scraggly mess. Under his arm a cheap Casio keyboard or two indicate the low-fi musical experience he is about to unleash.

It’s shambolically amateurish from start to abrupt finish, with half-remembered lines and a haphazard approach to delivery of the ill-formed rants and repetitive tunes that comprise his act. He approaches life with the naivety of a teenager, with an ill-focussed reaction to feeling outcast, misunderstood, and put-upon

His lack of slickness and oddball style has won him many fans, especially among those yearning for the more innocent, more amateur days of alternative comedy, where anything went – and the weirder and wackier the better.

The good Doktor certainly revels in the randomness and sloppiness of his set, which helps nurture his image of a harmless buffoon, hard to dislike. But the slapdash approach is also a barrier to the routine really taking off, as strong punchlines constantly evade his grasp.

The amateurism and nervous lack of confidence that are so initially endearing only go so far, and the lack of discernable material starts to become an issue.

For part of his act, he puts a cardboard box over his head and cloaks that wiry body in a curtain, to become his badly-disguised alter ego, Ray, Man Of Words, a nicely appalling performance poet whose material comes close to matching the distinctiveness of the CocaColaMcDonalds look.

It’s one of several flashes that suggest there could be more to this act beyond the faddish cult, known only for being a bit of a nutter. Creating decent material without compromising the strangeness that makes him unique will be the challenge.