WHAT sort of a person sits on the risky front row for comedy?

Well, for Norman Lovett it was a young woman who didn’t know who she had come to see, interrupted loudly, talked to her friends and drank lager through a straw.

It takes all sorts, but this distracting presence took up too much time in an otherwise enjoyable night.

Lovett has been at this stand-up lark for 35 years, so he must have seen it all. His style is chatty and informal, so much so that when he wanders on, carrier bag in hand, it isn’t clear whether or not the show has started; and in a sense, that’s how he carries on, shambling and distracted, perhaps, but very funny when he hits his stride.

His topics are many and often mundane – a wrongly stacked dishwasher, cute-comical pictures of his pug, Elvis, a U-turning bus stuck outside his house, phallic graffiti – and illustrated by photographs. He has an amusing pop at the recording history of the Sugar Babes, but only after someone in the audience reminds him that he said this would be in his act.

Lovett has a lovely presence, charming, oddly funny and occasionally waspish.

His fantastic hangdog face matches his wandering lines, and the funniest moment is courtesy of bubble-wrap popped close to the mic, starting with the usual stuff: “Pop.”

“Have you seen this obese bubble-wrap you can get now,” Lovett says. The sound is enormous, a mini-explosion: “POP!!!”