Mary Kalmus

They say a reviewer should never leave before the end of the show in case the act pegs out and you miss a scoop.

“I liked making people laugh – I worked as a mental nurse for ten years and that was not a cheery job,” was Jo’s response to interviewer Liza Tarbuck’s opening question: “What got you into stand-up?”

"Suspender your disbelief and brace yourselves for a bumpy ride," mimed Binkie Beaumont, a howlingly funny, yet obviously unfemale air hostess.

One man, one stage, one trunk covered with old newspaper cuttings and around 200 minutes to fill. Could this combination hold an audience's attention for that long?

Bring on the spandex and spangles – would Club Smooch’s line up of acts live up to its promise of glamour, comedy, burlesque and, most tantalising of all, “special treats”? With a face painted like a sparkly-eyed panda, compere Des O’Connor belied his namesake. Whipping out a ukulele, he trotted out cunningly crafted numbers and regaled us with witty repartee.

Opening a gig during their first original-line-up tour for over two decades with a rousing piece without vocals may have seemed, at first, an odd way to get the audience “voxed-up”.

On a foggy Saturday morning 20 bleary-eyed beings emerged from clusters of pods into a Bexhill auditorium.

Set in a world of preposterous coincidences where the “lettuce often eats the rabbit”, David Hare’s political satire is (nearly) everything a night at the theatre should be.

A flame-flanked, high-octane version of Thanks For The Memories heralded Fall Out Boy on to the stage – and after a two-hour wait it sure felt good to be in the hands of professionals.

Stomp filled around 90 minutes with powerful beats using rubbish and cleaning tools, reminding me of how much rhythm is all around us, should we choose to open our ears to it.