Saturday 2nd June, Ormonde King's Ballroom, Kilkenny

Adam Hills, Chris Kent, Gearoid Farrelly, Doc Brown, Al Murray

Adam Hills has been absent from Kilkenny for three years. But he makes it seem like he's hosting here every week. Granted, he's fortunate to stumble upon the voluble Tim in his front row, "the most Irish-looking man in the world". And some poor Australian with the genuine name of Dougalad G McDougall. He makes the most of these gifts from the comedy gods and bookends the show around them, so much so that the night's not complete without an improvised rap in their honour.

Before that though, came the hugely promising Chris Kent (pictured) - a bungling former electrician, whose transfer to stand-up has no doubt saved a few lives. The young Corkman is a gifted storyteller of yarns centred on misunderstandings, frequently with himself as the butt of the joke. His resemblance to "racist footballer" Luis Suarez; accidentally staying on the wrong train to the depot; borrowing his mum's car and inadvertently becoming an unlikely, effeminate icon to local boy racers, these seemingly nondescript tales are garnished with rich, surprising details, delivered with an endearingly straight face.

Even when he does have an incredible anecdote, such as his near-induction into porn, it's told in the same matter-of-fact manner. A conga line into a funeral, his father's refusal to blame his drunken misadventures on the drink, all of these tales are eminently believable. The raw, rough edges of his slow, deliberate delivery make it feel like you're listening to the hapless, slightly touched one in your group of mates.

Like Kent, Gearoid Farrelly (pictured) will be another Edinburgh Fringe debutant to watch. There's not a great deal of depth to his archly waspish anecdotes but he sells them well, playing up the insalubrious reputation of his Dublin suburb of Finglas, his schooling by spiritually broken teachers and his grandmother's total contempt for his profession and homosexuality. Theatrically-inclined, his affectionately barbed observations on his working-class origins recall Paul O'Grady and Alan Carr, with the highlight of his set his guilty admission of his fondness for a bit of rough.

Two of the undoubted hits of this year's Kilkenny, Doc Brown and Al Murray brought a certain amount of baggage that was intriguing to witness being unloaded.

Elsewhere at the festival, Hills had already gently ribbed the various black acts appearing over the years, and Chelsea Handler when she performed in his native Australia, for consistently pointing out the blinding whiteness and lack of ethnic diversity here, venturing that a dearth of African-Australians and African-Irish is traceable to neither country having had a slave trade.

Brown took up the baton, offering his perspective on the phenomenon, before revealing his Irish roots growing up in the "Iro-Caribbean" community of London's Kilburn. The pub signs "No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs" were part of its recent history and he wittily concluded that only partial progress has been made. With the audience now fully onside, he artfully exposed the inherent racism of hair transplants and plasters before blasting through one of his trademark raps, uncovering skin prejudice from everyone and everything. His twisted, staccato lullaby to his young child, pleading for some quality time alone on Friday night for Mummy and Daddy brought the house down.

Finally, Al Murray, the pub landlord, performing without a mic and considerably more hirsute than normal, taking time out from the Queen's Jubilee celebrations to address Her Majesty's subjects in the Emerald Isle. Taunting the locals with an offer of taking them back onto the Pound, Murray's bigoted blowhard had predictable fun at their expense, with his assessment of the current Euro crisis affording him plenty of scope to indulge his endless prejudices about our continental cousins. Not taking the character anywhere new, of course, but consistently bullishly funny. His conclusion to the current crisis, a short, sharp bark of tough love for kids who want to be talent show competitors, easily became a chanted mantra for the crowd.