Comedy review: Roy 'Chubby' Brown

IF THERE is one compliment that can be paid to Roy 'Chubby' Brown – and even one is being very generous indeed – it's that, after more than 40 years of peddling deep blue end-of-the-pier revue-style stand-up, he has got rudeness for rudeness's sake down to a fine art.

Within 30 seconds, the 63-year-old, in his trademark patchwork suit, slippers and leather flying cap, had already managed to squeeze in one oral sex pun about "that poof" George Michael, three f***s, a c**t and a smattering of bastards. A whole building site crew would struggle to do as much blokey swearing in three lunch breaks.

"I'm like you: common as f****n' muck", he asserted, to whoops from the crowd. Brown's giving unashamed comic voice to a certain earthy section of the populace that still calls a spade a spade is probably defensible on some level. But his belief that this requires selling them jokes cheaper and in worse taste than a bashed can of out of date value baked beans, is not. Comparing Venus Williams to a "black leather settee"? Punching an inflatable Jade Goody doll, anyone?

The rest was like being locked in a room with a biblically drunk, cretaceously smutty great uncle, all fart and knocking jokes, culminating in the cringeworthy comic coup de grce of Brown stripping to a thong and dangling giant latex testicles between his legs.

After that, Chubbs was off, without so much as another c**k, s**t or f**k by way of an encore. Perhaps because someone immediately took him out to sea and sunk him, next to the rest of Britain's post-war relics. We can only hope.