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Metro review of THS

'I used to be on telly, you know,' Richard Herring murmurs somewhat ruefully. It's a line you can imagine being instrumental in at least some of Herring's sexual encounters.

Not that it's the only tack he can use: Herring is one of the country's most respected stand-ups. Still, he's a 'f**k up'. Unmarried and childless at 41, he admits to being as socially awkward as he was when he was a 15-year-old. But he's getting better. After two consecutive Fringe shows about the trauma of approaching old age, at least now he's looking for something to blame, namely attending the school where his father was headmaster.

His show is full of pedantry, excruciatingly honest reminiscences and dick jokes. Though more of an erudite, occasionally off-colour blether than a laugh-a-minute gag merchant, Herring is effortlessly engaging.

With unexpected changes of pace and moments of genuine poignancy, at times The Headmaster's Son feels like being caught in a pub lock-in with a red-eyed rambler. However, that's not a bad thing when the rambler in question is Herring.