Rob Auton @ Just the Tonic, The Caves

Rob Auton looks like he’s been left alone too long. Alarmingly unkempt, we’re talking Ben Gunn gone to seed or Shaggy with the beard to end all beards. But he is eloquent and observant and wry, and mercifully un-po-faced for a poet.

The show is all about conversation, by a performer who apparently lives in his head but, thanks to the protection of the fourth wall, is happy to unleash his inner monologue. Then again, it’s difficult to believe he’s as awkward as he claims because his monologue, for all that it’s freewheeling, isn’t rambled or stammered, it’s assured and sparse with some beautifully turned phrases. His York drawl keeps rolling, recounting stolen dialogue, evoking insects eating parts of speech, and reflecting on the motives of onions. In fact, it’d be hard to mark the end of his stream of consciousness and the start of an actual poem if it wasn’t for the appearance of the world’s scabbiest daybook. He looks like a mad tramp but he fashions laughs from the mundane and surreal alike. If you’re exhausted with the shrill white noise of stand-up, go laugh at some poetry.

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Rob Auton: The Talk Show, Just the Tonic @ The Caves (Fancy Room) 2-26 Aug (not 13), 6.10pm, £5/PWYW

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