Review: TIM KEY: MULBERRY, Pleasance Dome

Fringe reviews are often quite snappy so you can decide on whether you fancy a show or not quickly. Unfortunately, my editor made the mistake of giving me self-publishing permissions and also approved of me reviewing Tim Key. So settle in, lads, because Key is my favourite person in the world and I am abusing these privileges to rant about why.

What? My favourite person isn't even my own mother? Nope (sorry Janine). My 2-year-old niece? Who is so endearing and consistently refers to photos of Mick Hucknall as 'Mummy'? Absolutely not. F*** her. It's Tim Key.

His fringe show is perfection. A mash-up of poems, stand-up, and misuse of audience members, it's ab-achingly funny. Mulberry is about the weird phenomenon of being locked in your house, pub-less and lonely, for months and months at a time (remember that?). Key's interaction with the audience creates an intimacy that we - and he - have been craving for the last couple of years. We could be leaning against his kitchen countertop nursing a tinny as he cooks us a bacon sarnie, rather than in the Pleasance Dome.

This review was always going to be horrendously biased. I adore everything that the poet man has ever done. From Alan Partridge to the Late Night Poetry Programme, to his two extraordinary books about being locked down alone, Key is a master of his art. He is the silliest of sausages and his commitment to objectively hideous tracksuits will never cease to leave me anything other than enamoured.

You can hone your craft as a comedian, but you can't imitate the joy that Key spreads through his inability to stop himself from corpsing at his own brilliance. His eyes twinkle with self-congratulatory glee whether the whole audience is on its knees or just one audience member is snorting away in the front row. Reviews aren't really supposed to be written in the first person. But I don't care. I love Tim, I love his taste in beer, and I love his show.

I live in the palm of Tim Key's hand, and only he can evict me

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