Perhaps the best kept secret of the Cambridge comedy scene, Magpie & Stump has something of a cult following within its own college – on the evidence of this show, it isn't hard to see why. Sunday saw a full house for a gig of stand-up, songs and audience participation, all eagerly lapped up by an expectant audience and the attendant CUTV film crew.

After the obligatory ovation for the society’s mascot (it really is, or at least was, a genuine magpie), president Jack Lewars started the evening with a smooth set of observational gems, from his narcissistic mimes on Skype to the difficulty of diagnosing a stroke in his aged grandmother. The delivery was controlled and measured, and the audience seemed to enjoy the mixture of self-depreciation, college in-jokes and acute observation. Suitably warmed up, we awaited the first speaker, introduced simply as ‘Bob’.

Straight away, it was obvious that Bob was no orthodox comeedian, as he pulled a post-formal fresher from the front row to do a screen test with the CUTV camera. In character as the angry German director of the Penis Monologues (the controversial sequel to the Vagina Monologues), Bob let the tension grow as the he gave the fresher the first monologue to read. With the set teetering on the brink of collapse, the poem began... and the act whooshed into a delightfully satirical ten minutes. We were also treated to the questionable vocabulary of feminism (“she gets subjugated by a horse in a minute”), the misinterpretation of Palestinian sign language, and emasculation via the musical instrument. The delivery was polished, the material first class and the overall effect mesmerising – there is real talent here, and it shows.

Next up was diminutive fresher Ben Weisz, to lead us through the philosopher’s approach to awkward questions (“I can’t prove that you exist, but I can prove that your mum did last night”). These mainly focussed on the shortfalls of religion and the rich history of misogyny in Trinity, with punchy observations interspersed with sincere and well-thought reason. Perhaps verging slightly on the intellectual side of humour, this was a set that showed much promise. In time, one hopes for a higher laughs-to-words ratio, but the current format still gave much to be enjoyed.

It was, however, the last act that really stole the show. After laying paedophilia to one side for the evening, previous society president Josh Erde began to talk of (legal) love and his struggles with the opposite sex. What followed can only be described as a comedy master class. A brilliantly constructed set moved the audience through Erde’s barren love life with measured awkwardness; his jokes often contained two, three, four qualifying lines, each heaping up the cumulative mirth; and the material on the BNP’s approach to Demerara sugar was inspired. Finishing with a dark-hearted cover of Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah, the class of this finale came from the real attention to detail in its composition.

This is a comedy night that is well worth a visit; 150 people turning up every fortnight to see a limited range of speakers is a testament to the society’s talent. More general material will be required for for absolute appeal to those outside of Trinity, but the insiders seemed keener, tonight, to affect this change, with a view to their imminent stint at the Edinburgh Fringe. The ‘Valentine’s Day Massacre’ is in a fortnight, and that's something everybody can understand.