David Benson cruises through his show about Kenneth Williams with such a fresh sense of spontaneity that there are times when you would be forgiven for thinking that he was making it up on the spot.

Yet it is the precision which makes it work. The long moment looking into a mirror, face relaxed, only to snap into one of Williams’ trademark grimaces. Benson’s effortless use of simple lighting to conjure Williams to life from the darkness.

The result is compelling. Eschewing the cheap route of anecdote, he builds a character so real that the viewer brings their own memories of Williams to the stage. And for all that, Williams was witty, well read, poetry loving and highly intelligent, Benson also shows the infuriating old queen, always looking for love but unable to accept it and who had, at least latterly, little time for his public.

In amongst this, adding to its edge and maybe a glint of reflection, there is Benson’s own story. Of having a truly mad mother and witnessing the moment when they came in a white van to take her away. It is all exceptionally well worked. And never afraid to look at sorrow, as well as joy.