On one level, all this frenetic fidgeting is offputting – why can’t he just stay still! – but on another, his hyperactivity is what makes his set. All the action may be distracting, but you can’t take your eyes off it.

The force of delivery also elevates the material, transforming a straightforwardly misogynistic routine, for instance, into an escalating tirade – the misplaced passion with which he belts it out is the joke, more than the contents of the non-PC rant. He has other strong material about the mild form of Tourette’s from which he suffers, and an unlikely and almost certainly untrue etymology of the word ‘wanker’.

Not all his routine is so inventive, with his average being dragged down by such pedestrian gags as ungrammatical graffiti or the British reaction to his quitting booze not being the supportive ovation he’d get in America.

But the sheer vigour of his delivery papers over these cracks, not to mention providing a shot in the arm to the energy of the gigs at which he performs.