The enigmatic illusionist David Blaine has just spent seven days in an oversized fish tank before holding his breath for seven minutes and eight seconds.

Paul Zenon's most impressive set piece has him spinning a pint of Newcastle Brown Ale above his head inside a snooker triangle attached to a dog-chain.

Put like that, you might expect Blaine to have the better act. He doesn't.

Zenon's genial, self-deprecating brand of magic works on a less grandiloquent scale but is abundantly more enjoyable than the vainglorious posturing of the pretentious American (the pint glass trick, Zenon advises, has only led to two very minor injuries the rest were all quite serious).

The Brighton comedian belongs to a whimsical school of magic in which sleight of hand blends with practical jokes and adroit timing.

Think Jerry Sadowitz without the wild eyes and antisocial behaviour order.

The rest of the evening's bill, however, was less impressive. Zenon was replaced by an increasingly bizarre and frankly frightening parade of refugees from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.