Review: Rob Rouse, Memorial Hall

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Rob Rouse, Memorial Hall

TANGENTS. That’s what Rob Rouse does. Lots and lots of tangents.

Tonight’s gig is ostensibly about how the 37-year-old Hope Valley comedian and wife Helen gave up life in London and moved to a country village.

But within its two-and-half-hour running time he also rifts off on everything from his time as a geography teacher - “I had to get out, it was too crazy for me” - the Royal Family and, perhaps funniest of all, the perils of glitter.

“I hate it,” the father-of-one rants. “If you use it once you’ll never get rid of it. I found some in the bread box. We don’t even do arts and crafts in the kitchen. I found some in the cheese. It had got in the fridge. It had made its way into the food chain.”

Rob’s at his best when he talks lovingly about the mundane - teaching his three year old to potty train, for example, or being invited to a village wedding.

But his tendency to go off on overwrought flights of fantasy, dressed up as anecdotes, can grate slightly.

At his best, with his Lancashire accent and eye for the amusing in the ordinary, he comes on like a young and better looking Peter Kay. At his worst, however, he is sub-Russell Howard.

Tonight, because he’s a local lad and because he’s so darn adorable when he hits the right note, we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. It’s nice to have him back up north.

Colin Drury