Geoff Norcott: Basic Bloke 2 There’s No Bloke Without Fire – Oran Mor, Glasgow

As a Times Radio host and sometime panellist for the BBC’s Diversity and Inclusion Advisory Group, Geoff Norcott cuts a slightly unlikely figure as a voice for the underrepresented, especially when that demographic is men. Having broken through in the public consciousness as a Tory-voting comic when the Conservatives were in power, challenging the predominately left-leaning orthodoxy of the comedy scene, his politics now seem increasingly centrist in an era of growing extremism.

At the same time, he’s started focusing more on sticking up for that maligned 21st century figure, the bloke. Indeed, this is Norcott’s second show on the subject. And you wouldn’t bet against him making it a pun-titled trilogy.

After taking some flak following an appearance on the BBC’s Politics Live, he’s stuck to his guns, to muse at length on the difficulties facing blokes. And middle-aged blokes like him in particular. He has become, he accepts, disgust etched all over his face, a commentator on “male wellness”.

Never knowingly in fashion, invited to a Spectator party for his tweet game no less, Norcott has realised that with a bit of careful observation and nuance, acknowledging the difficulties faced by women in a patriarchal society, he can justifiably deliver material about the differences between men and women, a former staple of stand-up, now generally neglected.

If not exactly self-loathing, the working-class comic admits to his struggles with the more bourgeois and traditionally effeminate aspects of being a caring spouse and parent. In a statement move, he opens the second half of the show by admitting to having counselling, yet still deploys a defusing punchline if he ever feels himself showing too much vulnerability.

Having entertained troops in Afghanistan, he knows his macho fantasies about grabbing a machine-gun and saving the day are ridiculous. But he still needs to share that he’s flown in a Chinook helicopter, his boyish enthusiasm to be conveyed and celebrated.

By frequently making himself and menkind the butt of the joke, retaining just a few shreds of dignity, swagger and argumentativeness, he can afford to take his carefully calibrated pops at his wife, son, women and the more over-sensitive elements of society. He doesn’t mention mental health as such. And he certainly never deigns to use expressions such as “crisis” or “epidemic”. But the inability of men to grapple with their feelings becomes the show’s underlying through-line.

You can feel the crowd responding to it. His initial routines keep politics high in the mix, running down all of the parties with informed, topical references, including some choice Scottish material for the Glasgow audience. With a focus on personalities, his weedy-voiced Keir Starmer adds little to takedowns by other acts who wouldn’t consider themselves remotely political comics. His delight, as a fellow entertainer, in the disruptive, box office styles of Donald Trump and Angela Rayner, is more appealing, going against the grain by highlighting their qualities over their faults.

Still, it highlights division. And the opening section is received a little tentatively, until Norcott shifts into the more explicitly bloke-y material. Nodding to the barrow boy style of Micky Flanagan, a performer whose appeal he can’t hope to match with the fusty name of Geoffrey, he’s nevertheless got an alternative kind of roguish, articulate cheek, open and alive to modern trends and relationships between the sexes, but a little sceptical and barbed about them in specific circumstances.

A typically generous routine about his respect for younger comics’ work ethic, tinged with mockery for their strait-laced lifestyles is a tad esoteric. But it feeds into a sense of someone inevitably slowing down himself and annoyed at it, most of his bad habits regretfully in the rear-view mirror. Perching on a stool two-thirds of the way through, imparting his wisdom Dave Allen-style, the 48-year-old is playing up to his knackeredness. Yet also approaching self-parody as a comic elder statesman.

No longer quite as tied to what happens in Westminster and geopolitically, no longer turning so many punters instinctively off an act who’s undeniably technically skilled and unshowily intelligent, the rebalancing of his persona with fewer politics, as he pursues his blokeish groove/rut, seems to have broader appeal and represents a better bet to sustain his career long-term.