Oh my word. What an evening. Kearns - whose cogs you can hear turning when trying to riff at the best of times - gets thrown off about 20 minutes in by a barely intelligble heckler airing a many years old grievance about an interaction at a previous show about making fridge magnets. It’s beautifully defused in a very clever way of redirecting the anger at someone who can take it, but also heightens future potential interruptions. The show itself is classic Kearns, remarkably dense and emerging from such a rich persona. The comparison of the shared calendar to a chessboard, chef’s kiss. He’s one of the best we’ve got, and very happy to chat afterwards. Pat Cahill is a phenomenal support act, both in general and for Kearns, letting the audience know what to tonally expect while being completely different. A touch of Harry Hill, a glint of Sean Lock, but something quite different altogether.