IN case you're yet to happen across Steve Delaney's alter ego, Count Arthur is an out-of-work variety actor and old-school, bumbling duffer.

The character is an affectionate portrait of a man who is as confused as Corporal Jones and who could give pomposity lessons to Captain Mainwaring. Not to mention a masterclass in timing to today's likes of Private Macintyre and Bombadier Carr.

An evening with Count Arthur is as surreal as lunch with Salvador Dali. It's car crash comedy, threatening to unravel as our hero stumbles through malapropisms, which lead to impossible tangents, before ending up parked in a befuddled state down some distant cul de sac.

And throughout it all, Arthur is blissfully unaware that the wheels had come off in the very first minute.

Amid this chaos there are wonderfully sharp observations. You could hear a pin drop, he tells us during one of his side-splitting up-the-garden-path monologues. "How can you hear a bloody pin while it's dropping?"

Precisely.

Then, during the bewildered story of creation featuring Alan and Evelyn and their pet snake who likes apples, he announces: "And God said, let there be light. But if there was nothing in the beginning, who did he say it to?"

Sublime.

Most impressive, though, is Delaney's adroit stage craft. Five full minutes of whispering, with nothing to lead the audience but hand gestures. As many minutes in the wings, berating his accomplices. The stage is empty, the audience left earwigging.

Few comedians would be brave enough to pull off such a stroke, but successfully treading fine lines is Steve Delaney's hallmark.

Or at least appearing to.