Pat Cahill begins by explaining how it’s hard to start – though in fact once he gets going it’s hard to stop him. It’s all too rushed in this confused jumble of a show, with erudite observations flying by amongst inane remarks, without giving the audience time to ingest the jests.

He’s a self-confessed cheeky cockney musical wannabe of a bygone era – and it’s not hard to imagine Cahill as a 1960s Dick Van Dyke. Indeed, the show is punctuated by some 'saucy little numbers', but there’s no attention to timing and his musical efforts fall flat, with the menacing beat of drum ‘n’ bass hot on the heels of his lyrics.

The latter half of the show sees Cahill flailing, and a surreal anecdote about buying a chicken fails to get off the ground. However, his yarn about being the next Dr Who, played in the style of a pragmatic North Yorkshireman, is a glimpse into Cahill’s comedy potential. Given some breathing space there’s some promising and original stuff here, but it’s hard to find a footing in this hasty hodge-podge.

Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 25 Aug, 5.45pm, £8.50–£10 (£7.50–£9).