Smokers have become synonymous with patchiness. This opened with more of the same, moving from slightly leaden explanation of how the ADC was battling Avatar by having 3D performances (“It’s like we’re real!”) to a very clever series of jokes about the chaos caused by a time delay between two of the actors onstage, and a third holograph being beamed in from Oslo.

It felt like a couple of extra rewrites would have tightened up something potentially hugely funny, and this sense of slapdashery continued throughout. So for every moment of sublime stand-up (an interpretative dance of premature ejaculation stands out, ironically) there was an off-colour sketch (the excruciating "Plagiarism Hotline" might have borrowed some funnier ideas). Or you’d get initially tired concepts revived by talented performance. Or very funny sketches – a Come Dine With Me parody was inspired – hamstrung by the lack of a punchline.

The funniest moments were totally unplanned: when audience participators didn’t participate, or when Mark Fiddaman spent a good thirty seconds corpsing, having delivered the unparalleled simile: “It looks like a butcher’s dustbin”. Which, however crudely, takes us to the show’s nadir, when an extraordinary figure came on and harangued us about her vagina. It has lots of hair. It’s groomed, though. It’s not like a rat. It’s more like a chinchilla. Rereading that, it almost seems funny. But in the theatre, with a bug-eyed blonde shouting it at you like you’re the father she never had, it becomes uncomfortably direct, especially when followed by a deconstruction of the blonde joke that blends splayed legs with gagging on male bodily fluid. Grisly.

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m proving her point (not explicitly stated), that men are only happy when women are playing bit-parts in the skits men wrote, instead of proudly celebrating their relevant bits/parts. I’d consider myself reasonably enlightened about this issue: I once read a book by Virginia Woolf, for example. I don’t want to use this column to advance an argument about how female comedians present themselves. After last week, when I enraged Cambridge’s Third Sex (the G&S society), I’m not trying to court controversy.  I just want people to be funny. If any militant feminists still want to have a crack, go for it. I can almost certainly outrun you.