Shanyaski is a nicely descriptive conversationalist, recounting various incidents with an eloquent turn of phrase and an amiable manner.

Only problem is, there’s just too little of substance in his tales; which leaves him simply relaying overfamiliar situations from which strong punchines are noticeably absent.

His experiences will be shared with most young British men: of going out on the pull, of encountering oranged-skin girls with chavish tendancies and of being terrorised by a gang of pint-sized pre-teen scallies in the street.

Yet Shanyaski doesn’t put enough insight, personality or – more fatally - jokes into these to make his set anything more than mildly diverting chat.

The few gags he does produce are OK, if a long way from being memorable, and are far too thin on the ground to ever produce a cumulative effect. The songs he performs are nothing special, too.

In his favour, he has improved noticeably in the last two years on Manchester’s open mic circuit – mind you, he was truly appalling when he started; loud, desperate to be liked and singularly unfunny – but he still has a long way to go.

Being generally good company does not a comedian make; even if you are literate enough to use the language effectively.