Dermot Morgan’s new stage show, a nervous coalition of bitingly witty political satire and iffy observational humour, is a curious beast indeed. He insists it’s not Scrap Saturday on two legs, it’s a stab at straight stand up. Strange, then, that we’re only seconds into the show before there’s a jibe at the Pee Dees; and, later, when his jaunts into the tricky territory of observation are providing slim pickings and it looks like we must have a nasty stage death on our hands, he quickly reverts to what he does best, putting politicians to the satirical sword. As a stand up, Morgan lacks the type of tics and nuances which make for genuine in novation in the genre, the type that distinguish an Eddie Izzard or a Jack Dee. There are very funny moments (a polar bear walks into a Ringsend chipper; a member of a religious order goes to London to meet the demand for left field sexual practices), but things never really seem to flow. As a mimic, though, Morgan is untouchable, and his Michael D. Higgins and Michael Noonan are as spot on and as savage as ever.