As any reporter with experience of covering their backs from potential libel suits will tell you, the passing of time and the distance from your subject equals a greater chance of getting away with printing whatever the hell you like. The same formula goes with bad taste comedy: according to Simon Amstell, time and distance (plus joke) equals comedy.

So with that equation set forth he was able to recount a tale about the Boxing Day tsunami. On holiday with a friend in an area that wasn't so badly hit - "the children's end of the tsunami" - Amstell escaped injury but did make himself ill on a big bag of cashews and was forced to return home via a 12-hour bus ride to Bangkok. On the plus side, the holiday book he couldn't really get into was washed away in the disaster, so every cloud Mixing sick gags with a surprisingly self-deprecating manner, the appeal of Amstell lies in his ability to combine razor-tongued bitchiness with glass-half-full philosophy.

Regaling us with stories about his inability to hold down a long-term relationship and the lack of a result when cruising the Concorde 2 on a Friday night, many may have expected him to spend an evening slagging off celebrities but the Never Mind The Buzzcocks host confounded preconceptions with an hour of razor-sharp and insightful comedy that instead centered on his own neuroses.

Clever, witty and refreshingly unsorted, the stand-up Amstell, perhaps unlike his acid-tongued TV persona, is a character to instantly warm to.