Tim Key (dishevelled, shoddy, magnetic) stands in a lager-stained grey suit and spouts from his extensive collection of poetry. To break things up he will throw in some recipes, yodels, shouting, and 1950’s-60’s Soviet Lounge music.

A quarter of Cowards and erstwhile PA to Alex Horne and Mark Watson, Key strikes out on his own in a show which is fragile, divvy and mesmeric. Also, his sound-man has large glasses and a trumpet.

Caution: this show is about a troubled man saying words; it’s not about a sluttish woman fiddling with a pole. It’s more funny than sexy.