The basement of the Pleasance Courtyard is a sweaty cupboard of a room more naturally conducive to torture than comedy. Taking my seat, I can’t help but wonder which of the two might be on offer this evening.
Greg McHugh is the first of this double bill to take to the stage, his laddish manner and natural buoyancy instantly winning favour with the crowd. His set zips by spewing energy at every turn, and though he flirts with well-trodden material (night-buses and flight etiquette, in particular), he maintains an admirable pace throughout.
Arnab Chanda is, by his own admission, ill-prepared. His half hour set is peppered with apologies and more ‘umms’ and ‘aahs’ than a yoga class. A shame, as his peculiar line of observational humour is a winning formula, capable of drawing waves of laughter from a crowd not so much reticent as stewing quietly in their own fats.