Zoe Lyons has boldly entered her drawstring trousers and jigsaws era, with the 53-year-old finding straight-up hilarious material in this low-octane, low-oestrogen state of affairs. In a phase of life that can often be limiting and cruel for women comedians, she has become a curmudgeonly queen of self-deprecation (although obviously she’d never accept that compliment). She lines up gags about ageing ungracefully, underachieving in her career, and becoming irate at Brighton-bin etiquette, knocking them all down masterfully, like a row of dominoes.

A few bladders may well have been compromised at her bits about sagging neck skin or mid-calf socks. Her ‘heavily fleeced’ crowd is ageing with her, she notices, and it’s true. No one seems under 40 tonight, and her warm crowd-work finds that a devoted lesbian couple in their 70s have journeyed from Stonehaven for her show. 

Lyons had a blip in her 26-year marriage during the pandemic, separating from her wife and buying a Porsche. She’s back with her partner now and, while that crisis phase gets mined for cringe-comedy gold, she’s not going too deep on the turmoil that caused her breakdown. She’s clearly in a more settled place and this is not stand-up as therapy; Lyons also can’t be doing with self-help guff about finding a better version of yourself. Werewolf is ingratiatingly human philosophising on how not to let a ‘fragile prick’ of an ego run the show and making peace with being as good as you are going to get.

Zoe Lyons is on tour until Sunday 18 May; reviewed at Monkey Barrel, Edinburgh; main picture: Matt Crockett.