The resemblance isn't immediately apparent, but Shelagh Martin is strangely reminiscent of a bald middle-aged bloke.

Not, of course, in looks, but in her manner of delivery, she's a dead ringer for Clive Anderson.

And, like the ex-barrister, her uneasy manner with its stilted sentences and awkward pauses belies the quality of the material.

Her trade, though, is not the barbed put-down, but the crafted one-liner - often surreal, sometimes brilliant, and frequently involving bizarre mental images of animals.

It's sweetly innocent stuff, with no attempt at audience banter, just a set which moves swiftly from one gag to the next.

Like most who deal in the short, unadulterated joke, the results can be a bit hit and miss. But in Martin's case the ratio is stacked strongly in favour of the hits, which has an impressive cumulative effect.

It all makes for a most enjoyable, and refreshingly happy, set.