There is no better way to see chaos theory expressed than by two step-ladders, half the contents of Wickes, a wind-up squirrel and a potato (of which more later).

In his latest and most eccentric show to date, Alex Horne employs a veritable shed-load of stuff to construct a Rube Goldberg machine of foolhardy complexity.

It’s a sort of exo-brain, for energetically-minded Horne is a genius of playful, spontaneous invention, his timing not exactly like clockwork but in the end so much better than clockwork.

And the result is not so much a mind palace as a rickety Heath Robinson-style pavilion hastily constructed over the hallowed turf of meaning. It’s as beautiful as it is ludicrous.

Horne’s enthusiasm is thoroughly infectious, and several audience members are only too happy to spring this joyously crazy plan into action.

While a man with a properly costed vision of his own grave as a crazy golf course can be forgiven almost anything, there’s just one small spanner in the works.

Six men on stage helping with construction: one woman instructed to stay in her seat and peel potatoes. Fixing that isn’t complicated.