A bowerbird, as Luke Rollason never quite gets round to telling us in his latest madcap potpourri of mime and existential angst, is from a fruit-eating species of feathered friends renowned for their unique courtship behaviour. As the Wikipedia oracle does tell us, this ritual sees the male bowerbird build a structure, and decorate it with sticks and brightly coloured objects in an attempt to attract a mate.

Welcoming his audience with a lampshade on his head while dressed akin to a Hare Krishna jogger, whatever the significance of the show’s title, by the end of it Rollason has lots of mates. Utilising a ton of domestic detritus and kitchen drawer clutter, a singing sofa and coat-hanger shoulders, Rollason’s set-up resembles a friendlier take on Gethin Price’s self-destructive routine in the club segment of Trevor Griffiths’ play, Comedians.

This is punctuated by a pseudo lecture on comedy by Rollason cos-playing his physical slapstick forebear John Wright; though as it turns out, it’s the old gags that are the best. If Luke Rollason wasn’t fleeing a broken home at the start of his show, the mess he leaves behind suggests he would be now. Ultimately, this is a pop-eyed meditation on the need to leave things behind. 

Monkey Barrel The Hive, until 28 August, 12.30pm.