AS a one time devotee of the surreal ramblings of the self-confessed “action transvestite”, it pains me to say that Eddie Izzard’s latest live show in a long time did not leave me rolling in the aisles.

I discovered him through a friend on a VHS cassette back in the Nineties in my student digs, and became a massive fan of his weird disjointed sets that featured talking squirrels and a groovy world view.

Friends would quote lines from his shows verbatim to the hilarity of others and, no doubt, the tedium of many others nearby.

But since then, we have gone our separate ways; he did Hollywood films and US telly, and I watched other stand-ups.

Maybe the problem is that he thinks we can just pick up where we left off.

But I’m now over the complexity of Latin grammar, nonsensical world history and badgers with guns filled with jam.

Okay, I’ll admit some of his mimes are still works of genius and conjure up delightfully funny images. Photojournalists of their days stitching the battle of Hastings in the Bayeux Tapestry cracked me up.

But what did it for me was T-shirts in the foyer with “I’m covered in bees” slogans on, exploiting an old routine about how terrified beekeepers must feel when they realise what it is they actually do for a living.

Such blatant mainstream commercialism.

There are some charming moments in Stripped that explores the existence of God, the history of man and is pure Izzard in the sense that he still has that magic of yore.

But it appears to have dated very badly and you get the impression it is nothing you have not already seen before.