Henry Ginsberg has the appearance of someone who spends more time in the Forbidden Planet sci-fi store than is healthy, and has no doubt endured lots of unwarranted jibes because of the fact. In response, he’s developed many self-deprecatory defences, all of which have found their way into his act.

These gags about his image are decent enough, but there are rather too many of them. Yet when he strays beyond that, the material often struggles to be distinctive. Porn films, drinking, Jesus rowing with Joseph only to snap ‘You’re not my real dad’… these have all been covered before, and Ginsberg contributes little to the comedy canon.

He projects an amiable enough image of the shy, awkward outsider, and has a nice routine recalling junior-school maths lessons, but too often heads for obvious punchlines, even when he strives to start his routines from a different angle.