If you are obviously posh in comedy you might as well own it. Jack Whitehall owns it, Ivo Graham owns and Finlay Christie stakes out similar territory. He portrays himself as privately educated but nice, not one of the ones who wants to end up running the country. Encountering a joiner he points out that his dad is a joiner too. He's been a member of the National Trust for 12 years.

 

Christie's latest show Champagne Casanova is another bulletin from a life of Gen Z white male privilege and a very entertaining one. The central spine is the self-deprecating story of how he found himself being mugged – benignly but expensively – on a trip to New Orleans. He assumed the women he was in a car with were after his body, not his wallet, and dropped his guard, expecting to be dropping his trousers too.

 

Around this colourfully-delivered anecdote there are other trips inside Christie's comic mind. He has a sharp brain, highlighted both in the crowdwork at the start when he banters with his front row and later when he offers up some interesting thoughts on North Korea, the appeal of the likes of Trump and cannibalism (not, thankfully, that old playground joke about getting men to have an erection so there is more meat).

 

His style is engaging and unhurried, whether chatting about Hawaiian shirts, drugs or admiring muslims who eat dessert in local London cafes at 4am. This is a comedian who knows what he is doing and isn't afraid to take his foot off the accelerator, confident that he has a zinger coming and happy to take his time getting to it. He was impressive when I first saw him a few Fringes ago and he gets better every year. That pricey private education looks like paying off.