Shuffling onto the stage with Jesus-style facial scruff and shoulder-length hair, Kitson - apparently painfully shy and afflicted with a stutter - produced only polite chuckles and a spot of light laughter during the rambling first half of his show.

Promised "more funny to come" after the break, I budged around uncomfortably in my seat as my attention drifted away.

After the interval, though, it became clear that the first hour had merely been a lengthy warm-up.

Casually flipping his cap around the stage, Kitson appeared to have lost all selfconsciousness in a schizophrenic personality shift which also brought about a positive change in the quality of his material.

Taking particular issue with Nuts magazine's marketing spiel, "Women! Don't expect any help on a Thursday!", Kitson repeatedly screamed the mantra in a Neanderthal voice, expressing his extreme distaste at the "chav" man's limited interests of women, sport and motors. The funniest line in the show came when Kitson, impersonating a bloke who'd seen the light, addressed his unseen mates with the order, "Lads! Stop f****** and kicking!"

The low points of the show were the many jokes which flew straight over my head, and one particular line, "...coming towards me was a gang of late teenagers in a rush...", left me totally nonplussed. Even worse was my feeling of foolishness when the penny finally dropped.

It seems, therefore, that my displeasure at a good proportion of Kitson's material was actually my problem and not his.