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By
Abigail Uden
When
the comedian comes on and has a pop at the numbers of empty seats
there are, it doesn't inspire confidence - either in their ability
to entertain you, or in how much faith they have in the crowd to
respond appropriately.
And
certainly when Ed Byrne walked out to introduce his support act,
and spent less time doing material than dealing down a heckler ("Believe
me, you don't want to attract my undivided attention mate"), it
didnt bode well.
But
by the time he'd changed into his shiny purple suit and cowboy boots
and come out for his set in the second half, things were back on
track.
This
was after an interlude in which support act David Hadingham was
given a fairly rough (ie silent) ride.
What
you get in Byrne is a confident and engaging comic who uses his
story-telling skills and soft Dublin accent to great effect.
The
subjects might not be deep - a whole set about bed, sleep and the
horror of having to get up, for example.
But
there can be few people who have not followed the exact train of
twisty logic he lays out, when pressing the snooze button for the
fourth time.
Nor
can there be many who cannot understand the sheer frustration of
having bought a tank of tropical fish - because they are relaxing
- only to dread the inevitable discovery that at least two have
died each day.
Most
memorable points: Byrne simulating sex with the mic stand and the
post-set coda about giant pandas ("They're on the extinction
list 'cos they don't breed 'cos they just look at one another and
say 'Ahhh - let's just have a cuddle'.").
But
maybe that's because both routines were at the end, when even the
constricting atmosphere of a vast hall on a sunday night had worn
off.
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