Watching Frank Woodley wriggle and prance his way across the stage for an hour is like being tied down and tickled till you scream. It’s just so much fun. Even afterwards, when you realise you may have burst a few blood vessels in your eyeballs, you still can’t help chuckling at the lanky-limbed comic genius.

In Bewilderbeest, Woodley is at his coloured-sock-wearing, laptop-bashing best. He sings and mimes, and chases fish and golf carts across the stage. He occasionally calls on the assistance of an unreliable stagehand and a lighting technician with a sense of humour. All this to bewilder, stun, surprise and amuse the audience, who were all inching towards the edge of their seats, dying for the chance to leap up and join Woodley onstage. I know. I was one of them.

What makes Woodley such a mesmerising performer is not the fact that he can make fun of himself, nor that he can alter his demeanour from a child with worms to a staid grandfather in a nanosecond. It’s his ability to use everything at his disposal. Even the Roman statues at the edge of the stage did not escape his notice – he propels them two thousand years into our present day with a single technological reference.

Sell your kidneys. Auction off your kids. Do whatever it takes to get a ticket, because Bewilderbeest is the comedy show you must not miss.