I wanted to laugh. I’d heard apocryphal tales of the comedy ‘legend’ and I’d vainly hoped I would encounter a latter-day Max Miller.
I was disappointed. But among an audience of die-hard fans determined to laugh raucously at the Chubster’s every crude utterance I was in the minority.
More fool me, I suppose. But there I was, keen to be amused, and it seemed as if the man in the comedy patchwork suit and flying goggles was working as hard as he could to keep my face straight.
Yes, I expected foul-mouthed misogyny, racism and sleaze, but surely there had to be a nugget of comedy gold at its heart? Frankie Boyle can do it, intelligently, sometimes brilliantly.
And there, to coin a Chubby pun, is the rub. This is comedy without heart or depth, without charm, thought or intelligence.
If I were to even hint at his Rolf Harris jokes this website would be closed down. One or two old-fashioned jokes made me grin, but, Brown is by no means the world’s best gag-teller
His comic ditties are crass and infantile. His voice is croaky, and he seemed so weary that, after just 70 minutes, he’d had enough.
That was a long time after I had.