Dressed head to toe in green, Ian Smith is instantly disarming as he bounces onto the stage. Considering it’s barely a Saturday afternoon, he’s packed out the room, the audience eager to be regaled with tales of infertility, identity struggles, and a sort-of avian armageddon that takes place in a beer garden. The laughs come easily as Smith is a natural storyteller, the kind of high-school class clown who’s aged into a sharper comic without losing his charm or likability.

Smith has recently discovered he has a low sperm count: terrible news, but excellent comedy fodder. The self-deprecating, phallic banter sets a comfortable tone, and the audience settles in. It’s classic stand-up territory, packed with gags and structurally considered; callbacks layered on callbacks, and a genius flash-forward that brings the house down. Smith deftly mines comedy from the everyday such as sausage pies, being crap at skiing, and existential dread in the M&S food court. He’s relatable, particularly if you’re a straight white man with a low sperm count, which, judging by the audience’s reaction, might be more common than you’d think. Smith plays the fool (he’s a bit confused by life) which makes his sharper insights hit even harder. An act considerably more exciting than his name may suggest. 

Ian Smith: Foot Spa Half Empty, Monkey Barrel, until 24 August, 12.30pm; main picture: Matt Stronge.