Being at a Miles Jupp gig is, to use his own words, a bit like “dying and going to Waitrose”.
While an opening segment of his gig parodies the insight of polling companies in revealing the likes and hobbies of a typical Jupp fan, it’s pretty clear that an attachment to the John Lewis Partnership, listening to Radio Four, and a general disposition towards under-breath tutting probably unites a large swathe of the sold out auditorium.
With that market in mind, Jupp’s brand of literate, intricately crafted, verbose story telling is manna from heaven – or at the very least a Duchy Original (another focus for his, largely mock, ire).
Aside from the odd well-placed expletive this is a relaxing and soothing warm bath of a show: we get our offspring revealing our true selves with their mimicry; we get disbelief at hipster trends of serving drinks in inappropriate glassware; we get the mundanity of Celebrity Mastermind.
All of this is delivered with an easy precision that makes Jupp likeable and relatable; a lithe-tongued raconteur entertaining us for an hour or two. Bravo Miles, bravo.
