Rob Rouse’s greatest asset – by a long chalk – is his unquenchable energy. The source of his comedy may be old hat, and the punchlines often ordinary, but he performs the hell out of everything, delivering his act with such force that everyone is dragged along in his slipstream.

His forte is surely as an MC. He seems like he’s compering even when he’s doing a set, buzzing in and out of the audience with little more than flighty banter and engaging high spirits. It’s no substitute for good material, but it comes close.

Much of his routine isn’t particularly exciting, such as a segment about Abu Hamza full of predictable gags about his hook that must have dated from when the nutty cleric was first in the news.

A nicely nonsensical parody of Snoop Dogg, delivered with an unacknowledged debt to Vic Reeves’ gurning pub singer, shows off his talents more effectively; allowing him to be as silly and over-the-top as he likes, and perform with gusto. Better yet is his geriatric version of Teenage Dirtbag – a change-the-lyrics musical number that may be formulaic, but is pulled off with impressive style.

There may not be all that much to him, but his high-voltage jollity gets the job done.