If the jokes don't get you, the slightly lunatic stare that accompanies them will; and if that doesn't do it either, then there's always the hair – whipped up towards the ceiling as if all the one-liners struggling to escape from Milton Jones's strange mind have produced a kind of comic, static uplift.
Yup, here's a comedian who leaves very little to chance – and it's this skew-whiff persona that has had Jones pinned as the surrealist among the current crop of quick-quippers, although that's probably stretching things a little; let's stick, instead, to gloriously, relentlessly daft – a performer armed with endless Cooperisms ("Pritt Stick is not the best lip salve I've ever used, but I couldn't complain") and capable of the kind of punslinging ("When my daughter was born, she had jaundice. So there she was: small, round and yellow. We called her Melanie.") that made a name for Tim Vine. A huge tour begins this week.