John Bishop explained the mechanics of his act at the end of the show. He stays at home and hope things will happen to him. And he hopes they’ll turn out to be funny.

Last night in the warm black cocoon of the Unity theatre he was conducting an experiment to see if the last part of the equation was true – “if a touring show is a comedian’s baby then this is the drunken fumble in the back of the cab that starts it all off,” ran the programme blurb.

Certainly most of his material is the stuff that family life is made of; teenage sons growing up to your height, holidays and buying a people carrier.

A beer and a friendly chat with his audience before he officially began his routine had them on his side, so they tittered along with an inconsequential ramble through work he currently has coming in – his agent want him to do more plays. Recent jobs included a kitchen utensil prize giving ceremony, which didn’t really seem to find its mark.

A late arrival and a coat ‘reserving’ a chair diverted him into recalling a recent package holiday in Egypt,and he began to hit his stride. Fellow holiday makers all wore new white trainers and football tops, he noted. Men whose idea of changing clothes for dinner was coming down in an away shirt.

Sunbeds would be reserved with a single flip flop on each bed – why did that mean moving in was so impossible, he mused. Hardly new territory, the Brit Abroad stuff, but no less funny for that.

He moved on to ponder lightly on the absurdity of constantly buying stuff. Wouldn’t it be great, he mused, if they just stopped inventing any new stuff for a year, so we could all catch up. Inspired. Some of his reflections on peculiarties of Scouse life drew the biggest laughs. Going to the dump used to be a great day out, he reflected, a sort of swap shop. There was only one place for spare white goods then, he commented – proudly displayed in the front garden, where everyone could see how well you were doing.

His stories of his changing relationships with his sons was in the main very funny. His anedotes rang with believability.

“How cool, you’re dad’s a comedian,” Bishop overheard his son’s friend saying amiringly. ‘No’ replies his son flatly. He’s a kn*b.”

Bishop’s mischevious impression of his older son, voice up and down like Scooby Do, was hilarious, especially when he described the same son squaring up to him after coming down wearing his trainers. Both silently reflected that the son was now big enough to “have” his dad.

Bishop explained that some of his material would be polished up and developed, some discarded. About 70 per cent of it had an audience of all ages laughing out loud.

Even when jokes didn’t hit the mark, you still wanted to laugh with him, such is his friendly charm.

has buckets of charm. He’s the type of bloke you’d l