Sean Lock is far from being the only stand-up purveying his sort of low-key free-associative humour, owing as much to wordplay as to the far-fetched "imagine if" conceit. But he is one of the best (hence being nominated for this year's Perrier), particularly because he doesn't appear to try too hard.
He comes on clutching his hand to his head, making his fingers into a dapper fringe, his patented device for concealing baldness. Then he gives a tiny puff - just so - and his finger-fringe rises up a half-inch, so languidly that you have the gist of his comic style right there.
Lock is a curious mixture of brazenly confident and sheepishly apologetic, and such a relaxed presence that he barely bothers to project any conventional showbiz front, just breezing a sort of muted glee. Lock is pitching it slightly more gently than he has in the past, which makes his current set engaging rather than hysterical. But he really comes into his own when the rambling fantasies suddenly coalesce in a crisp little formula that sounds perfect almost regardless of the gag. One riff involves an endless chain of explanations for an audience that doesn't know any nouns: "Barn - building where farmers keep their porn." And never mind what it would mean to be caught in a "dwarf shame spiral", just the euphonious ring of it shows why Lock is an act to relish.
Till Monday. Box office: 0131-226 2428.
