An audience with the chorus of voices in Robin Ince’s head, most of them belonging to great comedians, gone but not forgotten, Melons is a lovely, maddening hour. As the serial Fringe attendee acknowledges, his recent ADHD diagnosis has been immensely freeing and self-revelatory. But it’s also a licence to tangent at dizzying speed, with anecdotes rarely concluded but piled high, higgledy-piggledy atop one another, the introduction of one story sparking memory of another.

The structure, such as this show has any inclination towards, has it bookended by an explanation of Ince’s melon-smashing, sustained grudge against light entertainment lag Vernon Kay, and a poignant poem dedicated to the true artists, those whose contributions need to be recognised and conveyed to these living legends while they can. Some beats of the tale, such as his earliest introduction to comedy through The Goodies, the roistering magnificence of Alexei Sayle, and the profound decency of late American stand-up Barry Crimmins are doubtless in the show every night. But otherwise, Ince’s scatterbrain invariably seems prompted by whim, supplemented by the avalanche of notes and memorabilia he fishes from his bag. 

The ghosts of bygone Edinburghs and the 1990s comedy scene loom large, the set-up of Ince fleeing a tedious Tory with Sean Lock more compelling than its denouement of him sharing a flight with an actual madly right-wing MP. No matter, there’s always some uproarious Barry Cryer gags along in a minute, their hoary Jewish ancestry in the Catskills reinforcing the sense of a great comedy lineage that Ince has modestly yet appreciably played his part in. 

Robin Ince: Melons – A Love Letter To Stand-Up Comedy, The Stand’s New Town Theatre, until 27 August, 8.35pm.