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There’s always a great demand for familiar favourites – just look at the inexorable rise of the tribute bands – and it’s that which Parrot fills. His routine is the very stuff you’d expect of a stereotypical stand-up comic, revolving mainly around the tribulations of getting drunk and behaving badly. And yes, there is a ‘buying a kebab’ routine, and another about pissing in the wardrobe, as is obligatory. With dull inevitability, it all unfolds exactly as you would expect, but despite its lack of any surprises, the routine is an audience-pleaser, mechanically pressing all the right buttons. Parrot’s been doing this a long time – nearly two decades – so there’s little to fault in delivery, timing or ability to hold the stage unfazed by hecklers. But while comedy has moved on in that time, or so you’d hope, Parrot hasn’t made much concession to changing trends. There’s a small segment where he applies his considerable comedy experience to material you won’t have heard before - talking about the fact that he’s missing the tip of one of his fingers and the mischievous fun he has with it – which stands out because of its freshness. If only there was more like this, and less you might have heard Billy Connolly do in the Seventies.
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