Can it really only be five years since I saw Michael McIntyre perform at the Edinburgh fringe, in one of its smallest, sweatiest venues, to an audience of about 25 people? Now look at him, striding about the stage at the O2 in front of video screens higher than a house, on his national arena tour (there's nothing like witnessing such a phenomenal rise to make you wonder what you've been doing with your own life for the past five years).
"This is the biggest gig of my life," he announces breathlessly as the show opens, beaming up in awe at his distant audience in the highest tier; the crowd whoops encouragement, illustrating an important point about McIntyre's success – his appeal is built on the fact that people genuinely like him. There may be a slickness to his performances, a glossy showmanship that calls to mind old-school entertainers such as Michael Barrymore, but McIntyre marries the slickness with a warmth that has won him fans in the kind of numbers that fill sports arenas.
But the scale of his success is also about the material