Saturday 25th September 2004
 | | Jason Manford |
Our compère for the night is Jason Mansford, a less sweaty Peter Kay from Whalley Range who looks like a fat version of Michael Owen. His material is fresh and funny and his delivery is flawless. He brings the audience into his routine and copes with the rubbish shouted by the less-than-lucid members of the crowd with aplomb, poking fun at Scousers, Mancs and Scallies alike before introducing the first act, Rhys Darby.
 | | Rhys Darby |
Rhys Darby is a softly spoken Kiwi whose a cappella sound effects make up for what is overall quite weak material – the delivery is there, just not the big laughs. He manages to steer a somewhat surreal set through topics as diverse as playing dodge-ems in boats, dinosaurs being bullied for their silly little arms and Buzz Aldrin’s post-moon depression, but builds up to a flat ending regarding a rather odd date. Jason Mansford then retakes the stage to explain his irrational phobia of exiting cubicles of public toilets when there is someone else in the room, and the clever use of Stickle Bricks to make a hand held Ziggy from Quantum Leap. | "Undoubtedly the highlight of the evening, Quincy is fast, pacey, on the ball and frequently hilarious." | | Graham Hughes |
The night is then kicked into high gear by the arrival of Quincy, a comic from Laaandan who is, by his own admission, not someone you would want to meet down a dark alley. But, as he points out, if you are hanging around dark alleys looking for a large black men, he would rather not meet you either! His material covers the horrors of being a single father, the possibility of a black James Bond demanding weed instead of vodka martini and his love of breasts that slap you back. Undoubtedly the highlight of the evening, Quincy is fast, pacey, on the ball and frequently hilarious. After the break, Jason Mansford explains his plan (after he wins the lottery) to buy every single ticket to a Mick Hucknall concert, and then not turn up. Or to turn up on his own and request songs in a weird stalker kind of way. Good one.
 | | Paul Sinha |
The final act is Paul Sinha. Paul’s delivery is subtle, yet constantly amusing. His intonation is similar to that of David Baddiel, but thankfully he is nowhere near as smug. He doesn’t have to look far for funny material. He talks about the comic potential of giving the British citizenship test to moronic British citizens and the fact that since Harold Shipman brought the profession into disrepute, he is now able to explain to his mother that he has jacked in his job as a GP to be a "fat gay stand-up comedian." As the night draws to a close, a quick look around the sold-out basement of The Slaughterhouse goes to show that our scouse appetite for light entertainment is undiminished and that, thankfully, somewhere in Liverpool good stand-up comedy is alive and kicking.
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