“I’d forgotten this was a radical town,” says Stewart Lee during one of this evening’s many semi-improvised asides.

Touching on everything from losing out on a Bafta to Graham Norton, to hating yoghurt-drinking under-40s and orienteering with Napalm Death, Lee’s self-styled passive-aggressive approach may be very familiar, but it certainly hasn’t worn thin.

His esoteric trails of thought, introspective dissections of comedy and faux jibes at the crowd may still occasionally rile some critical opinion; in particular, Lee references a recent zero-star Telegraph review. But the laughs certainly come thick and fast tonight, typically often at our expense in the audience.

When one poor chap in the front row dares to scurry out at the inopportune moment of a routine’s conclusion, the resulting rant segues into an impromptu extended first half. In fact, Lee performs for almost three hours this evening in a set that proves he’s lost none of his idiosyncratic charm with age or his notable successes of recent years.

So although Lee laments that “it’s taken three decades to half-fill a room in Bournemouth” while scoping out how long it’ll take him to pay off his mortgage, from where we’re sitting his Comedy Vehicle seems to be pootling along nicely.

Even if he does suggest its appeal is limited to vegetarian Guardian readers.