After years in the doldrums when, let's be brutally honest, the shite floated on a stagnant pond, the British stand-up scene is on a high, maybe an all-time high.
Intelligent, perceptive humour from people like Jeremy Hardy, Mark Steel and Marcus Brigstocke has passed into the mainstream via television exposure on programmes such as Have I Got News For You, QI and Mock the Week.
The thing is, they're not overnight sensations - they've been beavering away for years on the live circuit and in radio (still the natural home of proper, verbal humour).
This has instilled in them a work ethic which means they tour like rock bands used to - dozens of dates up and down the country bringing live comedy to those of us with limited access to the comedy clubs of the metropolises.
In the Lawrence Batley Theatre, Huddersfield has an outstanding venue which has, in the last twelve months, hosted not only the aforementioned, but now possibly the most underappreciated comedy talent in the land, Andy Parsons.
Andy's the same age as me, but that's not all we have in common. Oh, no sirree Bob. We've both lost the battle of the receding hairline and shamelessly sport compensatory facial hair; we both like Hobnobs; neither of us understands the popularity of David Blaine; we are both MySpace "friends" of Russell Howard.
There, however, the similarities end because, where I can amuse workmates for a few minutes at a time (scientists aren't the most demanding audience, it has to be said), Andy Parsons is one of the funniest people you will ever hear.
I first (knowingly) encountered him on Radio 2's Pullout Sections, the comedy news review he presents with long-time part-time partner, Henry Naylor. His pedigree, though, stretches back to Spitting Image, Alas Smith and Jones and Noel's House Party (but don't hold that against him).
The front row become aware, very quickly, that they are an integral part of the show. One lass offers Andy some nuts (she should have been paying more attention. Hobnobs, girl). One bloke (not the brightest light in West Yorkshire, it seems) becomes Robin to Andy's Batman for the night - a convenient excuse to explain the plot for the benefit of slower readers. We also have Craig and Chris, one the archetypal IT guy, the other a young goth who becomes the butt of more Cure jokes than you'd think possible - no idea which was which, I was laughing too much.
The subject matter for the show isn't exactly innovative; crime, politics, terrorism, Hobnobs, everyday stupidity and sex; Andy may stand politically opposite the Daily Mail reader at the bar of the Whistle & Ferret, but his concerns are comparable.
The routine could, I suppose, be viewed as a "greatest hits" package; a collection of the artist's favourite material from club nights and telly/radio shows. It's largely tried and tested stuff and it gets exactly the desired response, but the highlight of the night for me goes right over the heads of all but a handful.
During the interval, there's a track by the Cure slipped in to the music.
I don't think Craig (or Chris, whichever) even noticed.
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