Once more unto the sweatbox. This is the same room and timeslot as John Kearns earlier in the week, but that run has ended and so begins Spencer Jones’ run for the year. It is, I believe, the first day of this show, and it’s fair to say that it shows. Jones is unsure of how to fit everything he wants to say into this time slot, and whilst there are probably a few easily (to me) identifiable lulls that could be cut, I’m sure he’ll figure this out once he’s into his rhythm. The Herbert cast aside as a character, it does feel like Jones is less certain of how much of that he wants to maintain on stage, sometimes to the show’s detriment. Ultimately, it is a man dealing with the depression he developed during lockdown through the sheer silliness that is his calling card, and it mostly works. If part of the finale is rushed, the bravura ending proper is perfect. Most of the songs are good, and you cannot help but root for the man. The inventiveness is all there, and if it can be tightened up, it has the potential to be a really good exploration of that time.