Old Rope is for comedians to try new material, clutching a noose whenever they resort to older routines.

Not everything works, but the open-minded audience are generally encouraging.

After one of Paul Foot’s tasteless running gags, an Australian couple enquired in hushed tones, fixed smiles revealing their apprehension, “What does he mean by dolly mixtures?”

Anarchic co-host Phil Nichol leapt into the crowd and forced an audience member to lick his belly, before strumming his ukulele in a menacing improvisation.

However, as he tried a new deadpan set, solemnly delivering one-liners from a Moleskine notebook, he clearly found it challenging to repress his riotous instincts.

A self-deprecating comedienne then read from her diary, aged 11.

Her earnest, mannered delivery, undercut by the wisdom of hindsight, had everyone wincing sympathetically as she displayed her first pubic hair carefully sellotaped into the diary for posterity.

Mystery guest Russell Howard arrived energetically, arms windmilling, talking nineteen to the dozen in multiple voices including disgusted old ladies and even his dog.

His unhelpful father inspired a young Howard and his brother to search for the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow: “We set off on our bikes – carrying a blade, of course, in case the leprechaun gave us any trouble – imagine if we’d met a dwarf!”

Told that his taxi would arrive in five minutes, Howard pulled his notes from his back pocket and continued at double speed, pacing the floor, gesturing madly, bubbling over with ideas and riding a tidal wave of hysterical appreciation.