The first thing that you can’t help but notice about Phill Jupitus is not his substantial weight-loss, impressive though that is. It’s how much he closely resembles the silvery-pirate modern look of Eddie Izzard, even down to the eyeliner and black-painted nails. It’s actually difficult to think of anything else during the first 15 minutes of his return to the stand-up fold, at which point he lurches into a note-perfect impersonation of the transvestite marathon runner. That this turns out to be one of the few highlights of an overwhelmingly humdrum set is a major let-down.

Of course, there’s nothing inherently wrong with a 49-year-old comic fretting about another looming landmark of time or taking the rise out of everyone from annoying teens to despairing sixtysomethings, but the paucity and predictability of his routines are more of a concern.

For every subtle imagining of Hitler as a catty 15-year-old girl, there is a host of observations along the lines of Coldplay being really, really dull and how people in their 20s have an insatiable fondness for blue-coloured drinks yet seem hungover-proof. By the time he gets to a more captivating personal tale about his daughter bringing her boyfriend home for a sleepover, the initial excitement has drained from the room.

The Stand, 558 7272, until 28 Aug, 8.25pm, £12.