On the day he revealed that he’d been dropped from his Absolute Radio show after 15 years, acknowledged here in a broader admission that at 67 he’s considered too old by television executives for anything but documentaries, Frank Skinner Is not destined for the stand-up knacker’s yard just yet. Literally running back on for his encore, engaging in teasing crowd work throughout, Skinner’s zest for the stage and a smutty line seems undiminished.

From his comedian’s origin story, as a boy, witnessing the reception a hoary bit of innuendo received in a West Midlands shop, to the countless blowjob gags he delivers with self-conscious relish, Frank Skinner MBE is eminently aware of his place in the pantheon of filth, celebrating his craftsmanship like he’s a surviving artisan in a fading Great British industry. Ignore those protestations that he’s tried to leave the dirty material behind, which scarcely survive beyond his initial routines on long-term relationships.

He even alights on the hacky, throwback subject of pornographic magazines left in bushes, but typically imbues the bit with a cheeky whimsy that elevates it above the norm. He affects to worry about causing offence, noting the older comic tendency to denounce progressive political sensibilities as an ill-concealed cover for frustration at having their bigotry being called out.

If Skinner has a professional raison d’être now, it’s to show that not only is he still a master of his art, blending superbly told, self-deprecating anecdotes with waggish observations on life and love, his droll wisdom of age interspersed with an evergreen delight in silliness for its own sake, but he still clearly reckons he’s among the absolute best and is keen to keep on proving it.

Frank Skinner: 30 Years Of Dirt tours until Saturday 24 August; reviewed at King’s Theatre, Glasgow, as part of Glasgow International Comedy Festival; main picture: David Monteith-Hodge.