His prepared material is more scripted than most, but this isn’t any kind of drawback. I’m wary of praising his voice after he compared one critic who did so to enjoying a book because of its font, but to talk of Williams’ voice involves much more than his slow Leeds drawl - it’s about everything from his inflections to his sentence structure.  His opening gambit, switching between the voices of Sylvia Plath and Nuts magazine, shows extreme vocal dexterity; later, when he predicts his children’s inability to give him grandchildren, there isn’t a word that could work better at that point than ‘gumption’, nor a voice that could say it better.

It’s remarkable that Williams should have such a strong, unique identity in his performance given only last year he was nominated for Best Newcomer at the Edinburgh Festival, but the combination of dreariness and perkiness pervades everything he does on stage. There’s no other World Cup song on earth that could leave you so convinced of the futility of sports enthusiasm – or indeed, of enthusiasm in general.

Even at these moments, Williams admits to being unsure where some sentences and ideas are going: often he deals with this skilfully, but there’s a slight feeling that he’s significantly less assured with the newer material. This is entirely understandable, but does make the show as a whole harder to follow: it means that when he deliberately wants to appear aloof and directionless in his narrative, this is undermined. I’d love to believe that his meandering is all in character: currently it’s a little too close to reality.

The theatrical segments are the heart of Capitalism form a huge contrast to anything else Williams has done: not in terms of precision, but because they’re much higher in energy, and sillier. Watching Williams talk can sometimes be like watching someone wade through treacle; watching him act is a lot easier. He insists throughout that he ‘can’t act’, but if you were to believe this, you might also believe that his idea for the video introduction was proof that he can’t satirise, or that he was genuinely annoyed that the wide stage meant he got a laugh every time he attempted to have a conversation with himself from opposite sides. It’s very carefully crafted in its heavy-handedness.

And rather than detracting from the more heartfelt moments – where Williams describes himself as a leaking ship on a sea of loneliness – it only makes the bleakness more piercing, and the inevitable laughter more embarrassed. Once the other segments of the show are given this fine tuning, it will be a force to be reckoned with.