Many months ago, in what admittedly was an obnoxiously bland tweet, I broadcast to the world that "I bloody love Bombay mix". Fast forward to 20 minutes into Sanderson Jones' gig, and I'm being pelted by not one, not two, but three bags of Bombay mix. "Evan bloody loves Bombay mix!" howls Jones.
Remarkably, it's not just my name Jones has memorised. Every member of his audience must buy their ticket, personally, from the performer. He greets each of them by name as they come in and punctuates his show with facts he has learned about them by trawling social media. Hours after the show, it occurs that this makes a truly terrifying point about the extent of our online lives, Jones' claim that he is "from the internet" looming into focus.
His show, though, is no forum for quiet contemplation, and what's obvious first and foremost is the superb shift in the dynamic of a standup gig Jones invokes. It's an innovative format tailor-made for the hugely personable and charismatic dandy and, in what feels more like a pumped-up meeting than a gig, Jones presides over an atmosphere of joyous chaos.
If there's a criticism, it's that a heft of Jones' humour is fairly puerile, and so might not prove amusing for all and sundry (indeed, he has a Venn diagram to demonstrate this very fact). That said, it's hard not to roar at his outrageous use of ChatRoulette, however close to the winds of taste he sails. Jones is hawking his tickets in the Pleasance Courtyard every day from 1–5:30pm – just vet your Twitter feed before you seek him out.