There is no theme to Russell Howard’s stand-up slot. It is just him, a microphone, a packed room and a surfeit of stories to tell. And it says much for his abilities as both a comedian and a raconteur that we could have all quite happily stayed in the room for at least another hour, while he kept on riffing away on his tales about lots of things in general and nothing in particular.
Here are little ideas grown long and shaggy. And as he brings his audience into play, horribly exposed to him as they are in the pit of the Pleasance Hut, it was clear that he is there to work with them, not take them to task - no matter how many excuses they find for him to do so.
The stories of West Country angst, putting up tents at Glastonbury, world records and Michael Flatley all come tumbling out so thick and full of extra ideas that he over-runs where a consummate professional would have pulled everything neatly together and said goodnight. But Howard just seems to be enjoying himself too much. Which is what makes him so good.
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