Carl Barron is not big (rude people point it out to him all the time, apparently). He’s not clever (or so he’d have us believe with his slow-schoolboy schtick). Luckily for him, then, that’s he’s very funny. The jolly, just-a-touch dopey Australian comic is not funny in a tricksy, high-concept, show-within-a-show kind of way. He just makes good gags about the sillier moments in life. Like when his dad’s attempts to correct young Carl’s grammar just left the lad thinking he always wanted to be part of the fun: ‘Troy and me are going to the beach,’ says little Carl. ‘No, Troy and I are going to the beach,’ insists his dad.

Or when country singers announce a song that goes ‘a lil’ something like this’. ‘Why don’t you just play it exactly how it goes?’ he shrugs, with a trademark look of utter confusion. Stating of the obvious features heavily in his act, as do memorable physical gags like his ‘tiptoe hands’, and a scene-stealing whooping cough impression. Restrained idiocy, from a calm and capable pro.

Assembly Hall, 623 3030, until 29 Aug (not 26), 8.20pm, £14 (£13).