There are words, of course: about contactless debit cards, about secret Santa, about an embarrassing childhood “cabin bed”. But you could remove all the words from Josh Widdicombe’s set and the rhythm and pitch alone would get the job done. He sounds funny – a plaintive adenoidal voice forever rising to a pitch of consternation at this or that outrage inflicted by the modern world. I’d prefer it if he depended less on this perma-peeved attitude, this often contrived indignation. But it works, and it’s amusing to be lulled into laughter by the ebb and flow of his footling everyday dismay.
Before that, though, it takes time to get to the meat of his set – if this meandering collection of jokes about train travel, backward life in his native Devon and supermarket naan bread can be called meaty. There’s much low-energy audience banter before the show proper begins. As with Michael McIntyre last week, there’s a section on air travel, where Widdicombe demands we rethink our laissez-faire attitude to “turbulence”. Elsewhere, he boggles at the indignity of single beds and considers his schooldays, at 20 years distance, as the exotic rituals of another era.
The worldview is that of a pampered millennial aghast at anything threatening his perks and personal space. Widdicombe keeps a straight face throughout, which must be hard, because he has some fine gags, like the one about catching mackerel with the netting in his swimming trunks (“How was your swim?” “Put it this way – fire up the barbecue!”). He also leans frequently on nostalgia, as Filofaxes, Freddo chocolate bars and The Crystal Maze summon the early-90s spirit. Affectionate laughs ensue, at a show as cosy as the cabin bed Widdicombe spends half the show pretending to disdain.
• At Sheffield City Hall, 8 October. Box office: 01142 789 789. Then at Birmingham town hall, 1 November and touring until 21 February.
