Glasgow Comedy Festival review: Rosie Jones, Glee Club, Glasgow

After a phenomenal couple of years in which her profile has risen exponentially, Rosie Jones has masterfully remained true to her arrogant stand-up persona, making a naked, only slightly tongue-in-cheek play for national treasure status.

A self-declared “triple threat”, in that she’s gay, disabled and “a prick”, fulfilling broadcasters’ quotas at a stroke, Jones wields her power with wicked relish. Rarely does she entertain any pity for having cerebral palsy, maintaining her superiority as a performer and sex symbol and only flouncing when her diversity and all-round wonderfulness fails to secure her what she wants. She’s frustrated romantically when the object of her affections ditches her for someone with a higher Top Trump in the oppressed minority stakes, and with the cold, flinty eyes of a killer, she bemoans a much-loved nonagenarian celebrity still clinging onto life, frustrating her desire to supplant him in the nation’s affections.

Nevertheless, such is the licence that Jones already enjoys that she can speak openly of wishing to murder former health secretary Matt Hancock and be cheered for it, even if her role as a disability spokesperson doesn't always sit comfortably with her. She also flatly disclaims at the top that the show only contains three actual jokes, knowing she can rely on her impish charm, the crowd’s reverence and a powerhouse performance style that burnishes her writing. With her slowed pacing, Jones superbly uses pauses and misdirection to deliver her punchlines.

It’s a shame then, that rather too much of Triple Threat is given over to the subject of her getting her own place for the first time, her admissions of bluffing her way through the flat purchase and being an easy mark for the estate agent never really distinctive enough. Her naivety is relatable yet unremarkable, when what you’re accustomed to with Jones is the unique and the irrepressible.