IT FEELS as though Liverpool’s retro music hall comic, Terry Titter – blessed with the fashion sense of Harry Hill and the naivety of Alan Partridge – has been around since we were joined to the continent by ice.

In his eighth consecutive Christmas show at Liverpool’s smallest theatre, TT (aka Terry Kilkelly) brandishes a comedy award from 1995 (correct, 1995), and jeers at John Bishop having become a Unity Theatre patron: “Let’s all stand on the roof and wave at him in the Echo Arena.”

Chance would be a fine thing for Mr Titter, still more a gay acorn than a gay icon, despite occasional guesting on Count Arthur Strong’s Radio Show (another acquired taste).

The poster for this year’s Unity get-together, with a coterie of devoted fans, has the nerdish Terry we all remember – horn-rimmed specs and toothbrush moustache – tickling the ivories of a grand piano.

But no such gentile salon encounter ensues: more a four- letter litany of complaint to suit all manner of sexual persuasions. These come courtesy of invasive alter-egos Auntie Renee, a woman who could kick-start Jumbo jets, and mincing fey clubber Malcolm.

Renee, like Dame Edna Everage, may count the queen among her friends. But her retinue is altogether more tacky.

Between swigs of already familiar “Terry brandy”, the Scouse harridan shakily improvises from the confines of her chintzy lounge, before morphing, via wig-change and false teeth implants, into Brenda, one of those deluded office femmes fatales to be universally avoided.

Malcolm is also something of a start-stop affair – too much dirt in the carburetor – but nothing that couldn’t be serviced by having an experienced director to cut the self-indulgence.

An added character is a homophobic heavy metal bruiser with a rubber guitar. Funny at first, but even apparent spontaneity requires theatrical discipline.

Only latterly does prototype Terry appear to read a Christmas story.

A twinkle of Eric Morecambe to be sure, but a league beyond the comfort zone of Ronnie Corbett.