Celia Pacquola is infectious. And not in a bad way – as she keeps reminding her audience, this is one lady who keeps her immune system fighting fit.

No, she’s infectious in that other way. That way where she only has to raise an eyebrow and you’re still giggling five minutes later. Where her sudden dance routine has you struggling not to jump on stage and provide backup. Where she can actually say something hilarious about Facebook that every other comedian hasn’t done to death. And then, at the end of 50 minutes, your face hurts from laughing and your brain can only wish to bask in the glow of this awesome comic.

Not that Pacquola’s awesomeness necessarily equates to “cool”. In Flying Solos, Pacquola takes us on a rollicking and illustrative journey: in school, at home, in beer-gardens, she has always lacked the social smarts (and spatial awareness) to ever be one of “popular girls”. It’s inspired, by necessity and by tenacity, a determination to “go it alone” – despite the risk of further embarrassment. Yet in the telling of every wince-inducing, groan-worthy tale, Pacquola remains firmly the heroine, and unbounded enthusiasm saves her from ever becoming the victim.

The easily charming performer evokes in high-definition every awkward frustration of high school and beyond. Her relationships with a distant father and awe-inspiring mother are a frank and fearless sub-plot, touching even as Pacquola makes them laughable. Like her 2009 show Am I Strange?, Flying Solos puts Celia in a battle against circumstance, and recasts the audience as the home crowd, willing her to win.

Pacquola combines perfect comic timing, an energetic array of physical theatrics, fun home-video segments, and a pacy script that borders on inspiring. Her quirky take on the everyday confirm that yes, she is still strange.  But this strange, all-singing, all-dancing, somewhat-piano-playing lady seems incapable of putting a foot wrong. As you cheer her eventual solo flight, you can’t help but want to take off with her.