Rob Riley’s bluff Oldham charm, friendly but trucking no nonsense, gives him good presence, but he has neither strong enough gags, nor a focussed enough attitude, to capitalise on it.

Jokes about a transgender woman not looking that feminine, about President Bush’s surname possibly meaning something a bit ruder, and cannabis counting towards your five-a-day fruit and veg have a crushing predictability.

It proves a lacklustre set, not helped by him repeatedly pointing out where it was going badly – as if we needed to be told about the awkward silences and the air of disappointment that his unexciting material creates.