JENNY Eclair is a self-confessed show off but I didn't expect her to prance about in her pants and bare her breasts backstage.

Trying to look askance, the wall-to-wall mirrors didn't help.

Her favourite film is American Psycho, another revealing point.

And as for the performance it's even more disturbing. I'm sending her a muzzle and sedation.

What type of laugh is appropriate for a 42-year-old woman who lies flat on her back, legs raised and striking a pose for her favourite position of the fartnight? A nervous giggle? A hearty guffaw, a hysterical wheeze, perhaps a fun-poking cackle?

As the night progressed, Jen went at it like a train.

The "I'm a sex-starved old hag" gag wore thinner than even she aspires to be and left the audience, frankly, wanting to gag.

With a titter of pity, I tried thinking of something funnier my mother's mortified face had she been in the audience.

Thank heavens for Arthur Smith who saved us all with his sensitive wit and gentle charm.

Smoking as he spoke, I composed the perfect catchphrase: 'Happiness is a cigar called Arthur Smith.'