John Robertson: The Old Whore

This show isn’t so much about what John Robertson’s saying as it is about what he might suddenly decide to do next. The surreal storytelling, flitting between anecdotes like an Antipodean Jackanory-era Rik Mayall, dressed as a baroque bumblebee, is just a backdrop for Robertson’s careering whimsy. He barrels from one flash of inspiration (crowdsurfing!) to another (it’s too hot -- let’s all go outside!).

We did go outside, leaving Assembly Hall and finding ourselves huddled on the pavement at the top of the Mound. In the shadow of the Olympic rings, we were occasionally verbally molested by passing Jim Jefferies fans. When Robertson was less than complimentary about his fellow Australian comic, Jefferies himself appeared, yelling in outrage. Robertson ran through the audience, high-fiving us all like an American talk-show host.

I can’t tell you what’ll happen when you go to see John Robertson, or if he’ll ever manage to finish the story about the man in the Cardiff shopping centre. But take a chance on it, and God only knows which hilarious anecdote you’ll end up starring in.

Assembly Hall, 623 3030, until 26 Aug, 10.15pm, £5.