Tim Clark is a near-permanent fixture on the rosters of Jongleurs and the Comedy Store – a long-established act who gives the often intoxicated audiences of the new mainstream exactly what they want to hear.

He tells of getting drunk and sneaking back home, of not being able to get the key in the lock or of the creaky stair he must negotiate if he’s to avoid raising the alarm. Basically, he’s telling the weekend audiences exactly how they will be spending the few hours following the gig, with little embellishment.

It’s not illuminating or imaginative – pretty much anyone could have come up with the same story, and indeed many others have. Instead the set just reinforces what the target audience already know.

Throw in a bit about rowing with your partner, and some derogatory gags about ginger kids and you complete the recipe for a safe, unchallenging set.

Yet this mostly pedestrian material is enlivened with a rock-solid delivery – and even a few good, incredulous lines that emerge from the mundane.

Clark’s certainly got the experience to handle a crowd, even if it’s with the same-old lines mocking an innocent punter’s appearance, which is why he remains a compere in demand.

But despite showing such mastery of the stage, 90 per cent of his act is comedy by numbers - you can almost tick off the cliches as you go along – meaning he’s really only a hit with those seeking the easy laugh.