How time flies. The arrival of the Freshers’ lateshow reminds me that exactly a year has passed since I stepped onto stage in the same timeslot, full of enthusiasm, cheer and innocence. Now here I am, an older, bitter creature relegated to the auditorium, poison pen ready to excoriate those who have come so quickly with their fresh, irritating faces to replace me, my increasing redundancy made clearer with every line of dialogue and sight gag, my only true desire to get to the bar afterwards and bemoan these insolent foetus-thesps into a pint of Pegasus. Yes, I should hate these people. It is lucky, then, that this is the most preternaturally likeable cast and production I have yet come across in Cambridge.

Part of it is the lack of pretension. The title is no trick – this is the Grimm Tales told properly, with just the right balance of wonder and hilarity. There are few greater joys in theatre than watching a simple job done perfectly and this gets damned close. We are ushered in by the cast themselves, my usher Emma Powell casually carrying a ukulele. I jokingly asked her if she was going to sing to the queuing audience. She considered the idea, and promptly burst into an enthusiastic “When I’m cleaning windows”, for no particular reason. I knew instantly that I was going to love the play. The cast is very clear about their mission – they start the play by simply asking for quiet, introducing themselves, and telling us that they are going to tell us stories. And they do so, without any attempt to make the Grimm tales “relevant” or clever, nor any stylistic grandstanding by the poet laureate adaptor Carol Ann Duffy (indeed, I wonder just how closely they were sticking to the script, so boundlessly inventive were they).

This is a celebration of the best that story-telling theatre can give us – gingerbread houses, severed toes, a gold-vomiting donkey, all served up with relish and generous imaginative skills. The clear familiarity of the directors Richard Braham and Emily Burns with the work of Kneehigh, their skill at directing minimalist, immediate theatre and their talent for pacing and devising all contribute to a very professional and tight evening’s entertainment. The whole multi-role cast of seven is equally brilliant, and I would mention them all if I had space. They understand the simple pleasures in this type of fast moving short-story collection: the comic accent, the slightly odd physicality, the well-timed and non-gratuitous mugging when things got out of hand. Edward Eustace especially endeared himself to the audience through his abundant joy in the weirdness of what he was doing.

The use of tiny things apparently found on the floor – a hat and coat held aloft and shuddering with an old man’s cackle, or some sellotape for sound effects – to create just about anything necessary is one of my favourite things to see in theatre, and here we were treated all kinds of simple pleasures; the climax being the Cinderella ball scene turned into an extraordinary puppet dance that is so uncynical a take on the fairy tale I actually found myself cooing with a childlike awe. We also had chocolate coins thrown at us (even a direct hit in my left eyeball couldn’t dent my enthusiasm) in a pre-panto season burst of extravagance, but this was no childish show – it just had the innocence of one. The cool, jaded Cambridge audience clearly were taken in by the combined sophistication and exuberance, and duly roared its approval.

It is delightfully ironic to me that the fresher’s show lived up to its name – it felt so fresh and fun and honest that I can only cast aside my curmudgeonliness and welcome more new blood into the Cambridge scene – long may these scamps lighten the ADC with childish laughter.