Frank Skinner: Man In A Suit

Man in a Suit has been around a bit now, following a long residency in London. The upshot is that it has been tailored to something altogether more fitting.

Fitting, but not shiny, however, as Skinner was never one to go for slick. Skinner was always a meanderer, but one who knew exactly where he was going. And so it is tonight: he never really breaks a stately pace, or a sweat, and yet manages to despatch a rogue heckler repeatedly, while still not ignoring a front row which includes a 10-year-old boy.

Luckily for the minor, the 57-year-old's material is much less smutty than it used to be – though it is slightly more in vogue compared to this particular show's previous incarnation. Filling the temoporary smut gap are cheeky routines about domestics, why dating in your silver-haired years must be better, and anxiety about his own fame.

This might seem old hat. But with Jim Davidson performing at the Fringe this year, there is a cipher through which you can listen to Skinner's material and see where it could have made a right turn into pre-alternative territory. But the fact he doesn't quite make that turn is part of Skinner's post-alternative caché – part of what makes him.

As the show progresses, longer routines giveway to some more quickfire thoughts and the momentum threatens to go. Luckily there is smut to the rescue in the shape of oral sex routines.

Effortless and easy-going, Skinner's majesty is a welcome stopping off point in a festival awash with youthful and breathless urgency.