He's been treading the boards for a long time now. If his pace is slower, the body not so pliable, the delivery more gentle and laid-back, the quality of material remains high in a show that has developed into an eclectic mix of personal memories, a dabble into his life and entertainment history, lots of rubber-chopping resurrecting favourite old characters and airing a clutch of instantly recognisable contemporary ones, and a few songs, and all with an air that flits effortlessly between a stage show and a chat by the fireside.

If at times the pauses seemed he was rummaging in the memory box willy-nilly to find another plum, it was a good fishing exercise giving it all an air of spontaneity as though he was saying "and hey, just remembered I've got to tell you this one". And all were hooked.

He is a consummate performer. It's said stand-up comedy is the toughest form of entertainment, with death by silence never far away. But a 20-minute stint in a boozy club bears no resemblance to the skill required to stand on stage for a couple of hours, with just a few props for company, and keep an audience on a high. That is a particular gift few possess.

That Phil Cool does, is beyond question, as he rambled through a glut of tales and jokes that all had something in common – that punchlines were the unexpected. But underneath the surface of the tales often lay slashing hacks about suchas the destruction of standards, the degeneration of popular music and the dumbing-down of education.

There were the takes on such as Clint Eastwood, Sean Connery, Fred Dibnah, Winston Churchill – and the dog in the TV ad - George Bush, Jeremy Paxman and Clive James. Watching his head retracting into his chest by stages like a tortoise was an incredible, almost stomach-churning sight. Standing out were his excellent Jo Brand and his glorious mickey-taking of the many TV programmes of yesteryear that took us into the world below the waves. His impression of a sea-horse and the song of the humpback whale were amazing. Add to that Popeye snorting spinach, Bugs Bunny crossed with Freddie Mercury and George Formby singing the Bob Dylan hit Mr Tambourine Man, and you get an idea of the complex and fertile imagination of the man.

He also showed what a good guitar-picker he is in a few comedy songs.
Phil says he isn't an impressionist – although some of the voices he does are remarkably near the mark. He is a mimic with incredible skill, or as he calls himself a faceologist - a word he made up. The show was simply funtabulastic. That's a word I've had to make up as I've run out of suitable normal adjectives.

Sadly, only about 80 people turned out to see him. Phil joked it was living testimony to his popularity in Grantham. However, that such a small theatre couldn't be filled to see an icon of British comedy, isn't a laughing matter.