A confident American (is there any other kind?), CK combines sharp and spiky observational gags with the occasional nasty aside that really does push the envelope of bad taste.

He's written for everyone from Chris Rock to David Letterman, but the comic he most sounds like is Jerry Seinfeld, questioning everyday aspects of life until they suddenly seem ridiculously bizarre when subjected to his brilliantly misplaced logic.

But he's raunchier and more barbed than Seinfeld ever would be, talking about his sex-starved marriage or paedophilia as comfortably as he does an innocent signpost spotted in the park or the modest trials of having an overdraft. It's only when he strays into fantasies about raping Hitler that he berates himself for going to far.

It's a tight, funny set - albeit one that doesn't leave much room to address the here and now. No banter, no char, no references to anything that falls outside his prepared routine.

But then with material this good, he can be forgiven for not wanting any distractions.