John Tothill almost died at last year’s Fringe. Doubled over in pain outside an Edinburgh pharmacy, he was rushed to hospital to discover his appendix had exploded in his body five days earlier. For most of his run he was trapped in bed, only managing to perform for the last few days of August. Yet no amount of medical bombardment can diminish his joie de vivre. He fizzles with a positive energy from the moment he wanders on stage, his persona sitting somewhere between Wildean sensualist, hectoring schoolteacher, and the kind of English patriot who’d slap airport security officers with his British passport as he wandered through the departure lounge.  

While his life-or-death Fringe experience adds a sense of drama to the show’s second half, Tothill’s vaguely camp digressions are more interested in flying a flag for excess and gluttony, living his life as a collector of experiences who’s as interested in the texture of Rustlers burgers as he is highfalutin theological debates. The abject horror of gigging on cruise ships provides a strong backbone to his opening half an hour, as does a fantastic discussion of 19th-century thief Edward Dando, making it clear that his seemingly scatterbrained approach is both effortlessly and seamlessly intertwining into a larger celebration of living on the wild side. John Tothill is a unique proposition; no other comedian can segue from a discussion of the Athenian public square to the appeal of cheesy chips with such confidence. 

John Tothill: This Must Be Heaven, Pleasance Courtyard, until 24 August, 5.30pm.