Circuit comedy is where it's at. Friday night Phil doesn't give two toots about your awards buzz last August. Payday Patti wants her weekend started on a banger. Everything about the custom-built Glasgow Glee declares a promise. You are about to have the optimum smorgasbord of live comedy tonight. The plush red curtains part, opening much like a grand opera would begin, the dangling letters of the brand name follow the fabric to the wings... Promise delivered.

Christopher Macarthur-Boyd has an absolute stonker... again. Does he ever not steal the show? Carl Hutchinson's headline set gives the crowd a taste of what they might be chowing down on for 80 minutes should they correctly invest in a ticket for his tour when he returns on his own terms in November. He shan't be repeating any material... which is a shame, as his online FIFA 21 banter and his beer rankings are money in the bank. Even the new act stretching herself in a 10-minute slot at least entertained her mates in the room. Something for everyone.

I want to focus on some exemplary MCing though. It is a rarity to see a stand-up work a weekend room exactly right and not make the often-thankless compere slot feel mechanical. But here we have a Geordie wonder who ricocheted off the interactions onto seasoned bits, getting them primed for material, not lingering on boring questions or blank answers, then unifying everyone together before bringing on a fellow act. Whipping them into a complete meringue. Sammy Dobson had enough in her tackle box to land the big ones while making it all seem unplanned. She hooks into the side tables with an early bit comparing older men and younger men. Ping-ponging betwixt each generation. The audience feels they are seeing spells being cast from thin air but she engineers them aggressively into whatever routine she thinks will bind them together next. And her selections of mark and joke are regularly bang on. The mark's presence in the show is by her grace only, yet they feel personally involved.

The embarrassment factor of being here with first dates or older family members is slapped out of them. Dobson's a wiz - a cavalcade of facial expressions, discordant sound effects, flexible stances. There are shades of Terry Alderton at his most unhinged about her. Armoured in a flexible black jumpsuit peppered with chalk smiley faces that betray her former day job as a teacher. She moves and gurns and charges the room with a relentless energy; she often resembles a 90s Saturday morning kids TV show host playing on fast forward. I would love to see a headline set from her.

She tee'd things up for Ray Bradshaw wonderfully. Bradshaw is a soft raconteur who lulls you in towards his brutal punchlines. His set consisted of left field anecdotes about dinnerladies on a night out, a civilised Canadian stag-do and his profoundly Deaf dad doing a radio interview.

His longer story about his New York wedding day that turned into a cash generator proves he knows what he is and where he is at. There is no wasted detail in his storytelling and the whole flows seamlessly into waves of laughter. He is an act who never shifts gears on stage, apt and assured enough to let the audience come to him over routines of any length. All the paid acts at the Glasgow Glee were of an exemplary standard that Friday night but it was eye catching to see a humourist who used minimal force to more than earn his fee.

The Fringe is upon us here in Edinburgh. All the wealthy and all the Australian acts already have their mega billboards up, lining the Meadows pathways with a big spender enthusiasm. Jason Byrne rather bravely has paid for a bus stop ad... on a dual carriageway... out near the Wester Hailes estates. Surely one of Scotland's most deprived areas needs a laugh too.

Maybe I'm out of the loop but there seems to be fewer recognisable names up this year. Which must be tantalising if you are an up-and-comer hoping to breakout. And will possibly save morons like me from embarrassing ourselves too much.

A cautionary tale from my first August ligging about the industry bars all those years ago. I'm a pretty hard guy to turn starstruck. But for some reason drinking in the same room as the late Sean Hughes really twisted my neck. He was a felt presence in my teen years - Sean's Show, Never Mind The Buzzcocks. And his stand-up struck a still reverberating chord within me. Like Mark Thomas, Josie Long and Paul Foot, Hughes seemed to be operating at a different wavelength, his own pace. The kind of true alternative who opened comedy up for little me... a West London teenager who had mainly experienced live comedy as slick observations and deadpan observations.

So, a few pints in at the Gilded Balloon Library Bar I did something out of character. I went over and told him how much his comedy meant to me. Was I welcome? Was I coherent? Almost definitely not. And then every day for the rest of that festival we kept bumping into each other. Awkwardly sat next to each other in audiences, in the queue for food, a deserted alleyway way beyond the expected hubbub. On at least a daily basis. Each time he clocked me his expression shifted over the three weeks from "Not this guy again" to "Jesus Christ, is this prick stalking me?!".

So... save yourself some cringe. If you see a well-known comedian in their natural habitat just leave them to enjoy whatever company they are in. Edinburgh is too small for it ever to be a once in a lifetime encounter. On the other hand, Su Pollard always waves and seemingly recognises me, and I have no idea who she thinks I am...