Mr B's Guide to Modern Life

Real "chaps" should be charming conversationalists; sacred with their humour so as not to overuse it; gracious and well-delivered in their manner; easy to be around.

And then there's the "chap-hop superstar Mr B", whose funny bone was long ago smashed up, pulverised and snorted. Rifling through his collection of crude songs—mostly played on the banjo, some throttled on the keyboard—Mr B manages to trot out every flaccid joke in the book to the merriment of a handful of people in the room.

After a gag about how you "can't bum a goat these days", he fits in a corker about a man with a tiny penis. And his delivery is just as thoughtless and abrasive as his material. Before the 20-minute mark he mentions the collection of CDs he'll be "flogging in the bar after", with all the subtlety of a bloke working in door-to-door sales.

The audience is a mixture of wannabe chaps, lads and musical comedy aficionados. A few manage to sustain smiles, but the bigger laughs we're all waiting for are few and far between. You've got to applaud his audacity though: Mr B is a frightfully energetic man, and, with stronger material, could be a decent entertainer.