Glenn Wool: No Lands Man

Gruff Canadian Glenn Wool hasn’t been at the Fringe for a couple of years, instead travelling the world, performing and gathering material inspired by his en route adventures. The hobo comic’s set opens with an account of the time he was strip-searched in an Indonesian airport, stopping short at the point where the border guard was lubing-up a plastic-gloved finger.

But why was the comic smiling as the finger inched towards his anus? Was it because he’d already had his worst day ever, having been too drunk to attend a free Iron Maiden concert? Or because he realised that no matter how bad things got, his travails could never compare to the hardships endured by some members of the animal kingdom?

Wool’s anecdotes tend to be delivered in a rasping holler that would be intimidating if it weren’t for the self-deprecation behind the ire. There’s an endearing incredulity behind his abrasive persona that gives him licence to explore territory other comics would shy away from (he’s proud that he’s never appeared on McIntyre). At times he comes across as a little shambolic, but you know he’s about to hit you with a killer line; and in No Lands Man, the final pay-off is eye-wateringly, excruciatingly funny.

Assembly George Square, 623 3030, until 29 Aug (not 15), 9.30pm, £12–£14 (£10.50–£13).