As the great African-American comedians well know, racial stereotypes have always proved an endlessly rich comedic seam to mine. Not only can you ridicule the racists who subscribe to them, but, especially if you are from the ethnic group under the microscope yourself, you can cash in on them as well. Comedy is all about subverting expectations, and the more taboo those expectations, the more thrilling the subversion (although, to be fair, he already had me at “Death to the”).

As the title suggests, Hasan jumps straight into this minefield from the word go . “I’m going to say a phrase,” he tells us “and, if you know the response, you chant it back it me. I’ll be very impressed if anyone knows it.” Of course, the vast majority correctly answered “Wa alaykum as-salaam” to his “salaam alaykum.”

“Mash’allah!” he cried. “You know what that means? It means the Islamification of England is surpassing our greatest expectations!”

Chuffed that googling “Death to the West” now brings up his show as the second result (after Pat Buchanan’s book ‘the Death of the West’ since you ask), he suggests that ISIS are now jealous of his search optimisation skills (“have we been shadow banned or something?” they wonder).

As the set progresses, however, it grows into something much more subtle and poignant, as we are introduced to the wit and wisdom of his Iraqi father, the naivety and generosity of his favourite uncle, and the difficulties of growing up Iraqi in Britain during the Iraq war. Real trauma and heartache are unearthed, and a Fanon-lite rundown of the double-bind faced by the immigrant whose efforts at assimilation are never enough to achieve the desired recognition, but more than enough to make him a stranger to himself.

He reflects at the end that stand-up can be a form of therapy and that turning his most difficult moments into jokes is an empowering process. That is all true - but it’s also highly entertaining to watch. It’s not easy to balance meaningful commentary with frequent humour without either veering into something that is no longer comedy on the one hand or that ends up trivialising your subject matter on the other. But Hasan manages to get the balance just right.

Some of the jokes absolutely kill it (METAPHORICALLY MI5, keep your hair on!) and the show is also educational at times (I did not know about the world’s biggest graveyard).

It doesn’t always land well; some of the jokes about Iran are a bit off-key and should be ditched in the humble opinion of this writer. But generally he traverses this tricky territory with wit and skill. Genuinely thought-provoking, always funny and sometimes hilarious, this is definitely one to watch!

Parenting teens in times of genocide doesn’t sound like a very funny topic for a stand-up show. But a good comedian can render any source material hilarious, and works with whatever life throws at them. And Esther Manito is a great comedian.

Like some kind of twisted lovechild of Rik Mayall and Leila Khaled, she channels a delightfully manic energy into a fiery and passionate response to life’s quotidian disappointments. And like all great art, what really makes her soar are the extended diatribes spitting out glorious nuggets of precisely-aimed venom.

To be fair, these are used quite sparingly, with plenty of immersive scene-setting in the build-ups. Manito is a master storyteller, hilariously relaying the awkward misunderstandings, exasperating dialogues and petty (and not-so-petty) iniquities of daily life.

Existing fans of Manito’s shows will already be familiar with her parenting woes, which are entering a new phase as her kids reach teenhood. Of course, this opens up a whole range of rich comedy seams to mine - drugs, puberty, generational differences ... and having her feminist principles challenged by her irrepressible urge to comment on her daughter’s PMT (“If anyone had for a second implied that my mood swings were down to my period, I’d burn London to the ground; now I’m bonding with my husband over becoming a toxic man”).

Her poor family get a battering, as usual - part of Manito’s appeal is to parents seeking to vicariously live out their repressed anger at their nearest and dearest (“After fifteen years of family life, I have concluded we’d all just be better off as friends - if we could just communicate through a family WhatsApp group which I could mute, that would be perfect”) - but underlying it is a clear, if heavily-disguised, affection for her endlessly frustrating brood.

Mentions of Palestine and Lebanon are very sparing given the circumstances; but as the show progresses, it is clear that the, already high, baseline anxiety of Manito’s character has been very definitely upped a notch by the war raging in her father’s homelands; whilst her daughter's insistence that she give her London Marathon sponsorship money to sloths gives rise to some serious eyebrow-raising amongst her extended family...

Whilst the show is tightly-structured and scripted, Manito has also mastered that invaluable weapon in the armoury of the stand-up comic - the ability to improvise hilarious responses to the unexpected. As well as incorporating audience responses and attributes into her commentary, she also manages to turn a dodgy mic into an opportunity to simultaneously castigate both conspiracist paranoia and Starmer’s increasingly authoritarian turn.

In amongst it, the feminism is still there, but never in a preachy way. “I think it’s different for men, I do,” she tells us, noting that Zelensky’s image as a dignified and heroic war leader is apparently unimpeachable, despite the existence of a viral video of him playing the piano with his penis during his former life as a comedian. “I just feel if there was a video going round of Angela Merkl playing the french horn with her flaps, it might tarnish her somehow”.

Hysterically perceptive and riotously cathartic. Much recommended.

One thing’s for certain about a Jamie Mykaela & Friends show; there’s never a dull moment. After its first performance back in April, the zany variety hour is carving a spot alongside Hot Rats and Live and Peculiar in Oxford’s expanding cabaret crown, thanks in no small part to its fabulous and foul-mouthed host. In the midst of so many Edinburgh previews, it’s nice to have something that feels tangibly on home-turf, right down to the signature Jamie Mykaela cocktail on offer at the Tap Social bar.

There may have been some stumbling blocks tech-wise before takeoff, but once things get going Mykaela and her onstage maestro J Henry prove we’re in capable hands. Sporting cascading extensions, a floral headpiece and Cristal Conners graphic liner, she’s every inch a maven on the mic (‘Lana Del Rewley Road”, as she puts it). Mykaela is Oxford comedy’s hardest working polymath - how many other comics have you seen do a theremin solo with their tongue? - and Henry’s deadpan delivery from behind the keys is a great foil to her mercurial showgirl persona. From their bluesy rendition of Sabrina Carpenter’s ‘Espresso’ to watching each act from the piano stool like proud parents, they’re Botley’s answer to Sonny and Cher.

And what of the ‘& Friends’? As with the show’s first incarnation, there’s nary a dud to be spotted. Sav Sood returns for a delightfully committed and convincing presentation of her application to be a professional Victorian orphan, and her wide-eyed enthusiasm and sincere delivery really sells the bit - probably why she was cast as one so often at school. This is apparently all-new material, and I can’t wait to see it fleshed out; keep your eyes peeled for Little Orphan Sav at a gig near you.

Monica Chatterjee strides forth with some character comedy next, donning a beard and baseball cap to manspread the good word about the power of narcissism as told through the manosphere. Chatterjee has great, swaggery energy and it’s a very fun premise that allows for a lot of audience interaction, but I think this character might need longer to cook to reach his full potential. In his current state, the punchlines feel a little underdeveloped, and some of Chatterjee’s best lines come after the beard’s been taken off, particularly the mid-coital brag that led to this slimeball’s creation (I won’t say anything except, don’t hook up with actors).

Then Ewan Mulligan takes to the stage, dripping clown makeup on their face and a harrowed look in their eye. Moving from a deliciously guttural duet of Early James and Sierra Farrell’s ‘Real Down Lonesome’ to their own act is like watching Tom Waits transform into Vic Reeves right before your eyes. Their - let me find the words here - balletic/modern dance tribute to the filmography of Michael Caine is something to behold, not just for its genuine physical dedication, but for the rug-pull in which a sweating, panting Mulligan reveals they’ve only actually seen three of his movies. The way to my critical heart is, to paraphrase Brian David Gilbert, a lot of energy into things that have very little meaning, and Mulligan nails it in beautifully weird fashion.

Last but not least is our headliner Jack McMinn, who takes us home with the trademark ready wit and deft lyricism that made him a 2025 Musical Comedy Award finalist. McMinn’s squeaky-clean, self-effacing stage presence contrasts brilliantly with his offbeat and surreal subject matter, such as the inscrutable powers of the Magdalen Road Tesco escalator (know your audience), or his twin loves of toy dinosaurs and self-pleasure. One of the few cis straight white dudes on the comedy circuit with something original to say, he’s the Tom Lehrer you can show your nan, and I’m glad to see his star is deservedly on the rise.

I’m willing to admit that this JM&F had a few more of the strings showing than last time, but it feeds into the scrappy camaraderie that typifies this night. Alt comedy is rarely a slick affair, and that’s what’s great about it - build up enough friction and you can set the world on fire. Jamie Mykaela has a wide circle of friends, and if it means more of these gigs, I only hope it gets wider.