It is the second interval and the rumour goes around that they have lost the comedians. Normally you would not complain - after all, we have already seen a dozen of the best entertainers in the land - but this is a benefit gig for the Gilded Balloon, the Edinburgh fringe comedy venue that burned down in December, and we expect nothing but the best.
So when at last the curtain rises on the final third of this four-and-a-half-hour compendium, it is with the kind of thrilling sense of uncertainty that the surprisingly polished show has hitherto lacked.
First we get Lynn Ferguson, who has already excelled as the compere of the opening part, returning for an unscheduled spot of banter while someone backstage nervously awaits the arrival of no fewer than seven comedians.
In a fitting tribute to the Gilded Balloon's wayward spirit, Ferguson gets Jill Peacock on stage to help re-enact the painful routine they were forced to do one year when the main act failed to show. It involved cartwheels and no jokes. Tonight, they give us only the edited highlights.
The war in Iraq, like the fire, is a recurring motif of the evening, employed most audaciously by Dylan Moran who gleefully announces that American troops have pulled out and Iraq is free, then admits he is only joking. His hilariously surreal justification for US policy is only marginally more absurd than the real thing.
But I am leaping ahead, because still the final acts have not arrived. Eventually Ferguson is relieved by Phil Kay, the programmed compere, who always thrives on uncertainty. He turns in a superb, improvised ramble linking fare-dodging, banana rations, George Formby and making do with crusts when there is no bread.
Happily, we then see Moran, Danny Bhoy, Mackenzie Crook, Daniel Kitson and Bill Bailey. We have already been treated to Arnold Brown, Boothby Graffoe and John Otway doing a "medley" of his two hit singles. An incandescent evening.
