With the evidence she’s accumulated from countless heterosexual weddings, Chloe Petts’ appeal lies in the balance between her laddish, football-loving countenance and her ‘beautiful, gentle queer’ side. Throw in the unresolved anger that she physically bristles with and you’ve got a compelling, combustible enigma. So why then does the current incarnation of her persona, even if it’s tongue-in-cheek (belittling and barracking her audience as part of her aggressively fronting-up to haters), feel so forced and performative?

The key story in her second Fringe show is one where, having allowed anger to get the better of her once again, Petts had to face the consequences, in a flashpoint with a stranger on a bus. The aftermath, where she’s schooled by another, more emotionally articulate stranger, is held up as a revelatory moment. Yet even after therapy and an hour here raking over the coals, Petts can only suggest that the source of her fury is a vague, existential malaise, currently gripping a significant proportion of her generation. No problem with it being the big issue in her life, but it doesn’t seem seismic enough to justify hanging her show and belligerent swagger on, not least when she’s capable of much more entertaining drilling down into her personality.

The wedding party material, for example, is gold. Petts might not fully respect her acolytes, marvelling at the beautiful, accomplished women who’ve settled for sub-standard men. But the messianic panache with which she becomes a pied-piper figure to all sectors of the guestlist is a hoot, both for her irresistible confidence and the smart social observations from which she draws her authority. There’s considerably more light than heat here compared to elsewhere during this hour. 

Chloe Petts: If You Can’t Saying Anything Nice, Pleasance Courtyard, until 27 August, 6.40pm.