Fred McAulay: Legally Bald

It's Fred McAulay's 23rd year at the Fringe. That's longer than many marriages last, though not his. Approaching 55, and married for 27 of those years, MacAulay still has the air of a laddish gentleman-rogue about him, a cheeky persona that has kept his following feeling as young as he obviously does.

Most of his packed Monday night audience at the Stand 3 don't need reminding that this show is not going to resemble his rather more polite work on BBC Radio Scotland.  I already know that the words 'consummate', 'professional', 'old school', 'practised' and 'ease' are likely to be employed in my mind and I have not seen a full show from McAulay. I duly tick them off one by one as the show progresses. 

With routines that include returning home to your wife drunk and the inadequacies of Ryanair and Easyjet, I could also tick off 'well-worn' and 'hackneyed' – but only in light pencil, as McAulay is nifty with these and other themes, and his reflexes are such that he never quite digs himself a hole. His opening sequence is particularly playful. The goodwill is threatened, however, by a rather anachronistic routine about Live Aid, but he keeps the material moving and justifies his retro journey. Tonight is one of those occasions when any misgivings about McAulay's safe hands being too safe are assuaged by the consistently warm reception his audience give him – and it's not just out of loyalty.