The choice of Kasabian’s ‘Fire’ as the walk-on music for Tom Deacon’s show is telling. It establishes a checklist of expectations which go utterly unchallenged during the subsequent hour of serviceable, unremarkable, rut-deepening comedy. Young Deacon is indecisive about his dual nature: he wants to drink and be a lad, but he’s also a sensitive, compassionate boyfriend who doesn’t want to turn out like his philandering father. So far, so grindingly mainstream. It’s just conceivable that a comic might have a skewed enough viewpoint or surprising enough delivery to alchemise such tedium into memorable fare. That comic is elsewhere.

In stand-up, it’s interesting how the wirework of ego shows through when material isn’t strong enough to conceal it. Not that Deacon is a particularly self-regarding fellow; on the contrary, he seems like a decent, pretty humble guy. But never forget that he’s standing before a roomful of people to whom he has sold the privilege of 60 minutes in his company. Until he finds something less ordinary to talk about, it ain’t worth it.

Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 31 Aug, 8.30pm, £8.50–£9.50 (£7–£8).