In a set that is light yet profound, not to mention packed with punchlines, John-Luke Roberts masterfully uses surrealism as a means of unpacking the breakdown of his marriage. Sure, talking about break-ups in stand-up, or any artistic medium for that matter, is far from avant-garde in this day and age. Using a pimped-up washing machine centred on the stage as a plot-driver, however, is one heck of a way to spin a cliché.   

Having brought many a show to Edinburgh, often with names so long they don’t fit in the brochure, John-Luke Roberts’ latest hour relies on the recurring use of a relatively short phrase: ‘A World Just Like Our Own, But . . . ’ This is the show’s driving force and a vessel for the majority of its jokes. Between the reeling off of these hypotheticals (‘there’s a world just like our own but all Taylor Swift songs are her referring to herself in the third person’/ ‘there’s a world just like our own but cowboys don’t ride horses, they ride other cowboys’), Roberts reveals his magical washing machine’s origin story and, with it, a tragically beautiful narrative.

^{Pictures: Natasha Pszenicki}

Aside from flawless delivery and creative originality, this show earns its stars from scrupulous attention to detail. From the playlist heard upon entry and exit (Swift’s ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’ on repeat in different languages) to the phone prop he’d pull from the detergent drawer intermittently to speak to J-LR from a different universe, every wacky element helped push the story forward.

Culminating in a confessional act of self-love, Roberts turns a new leaf in the closing moments, admitting he does regret certain things about his former self-deprecating self, but ensures to list these out to the music of Édith Piaf. A stellar call-back that acts as a final sucker punch to the already tingling funny bone.

Monkey Barrel, until 28 August, 3.35pm.