IT was possibly the most madcap, mass orchestrated manipulation of multiple pelvic floor muscles in the history of comedy. How Ross Noble came to be treating, en masse, female members of the audience for urinary incontinence brought on by too much laughter, I can't quite recall. However, as he counselled the ladies to squeeze, tauten and retard the flow, laughter was inevitably escaping and erupting in volcanic bursts all over the arena.
While the waves of laughter washed over us women and giggles dribbled out in embarrassing bursts, it was left to the imagination to only guess what might be happening down below. Uncontrollable titters, had become a metaphor for involuntarily leakage.
It was one of many euphoric moments experienced in Noble's fast-paced Mindblender gig at Plymouth Pavilions. The snake-haired Geordie delivered his trademark, off-the-wall, flights of fancy which stretched from Shrodinger's Cat to the mumblings of Batman's Dark Knight. With oodles of daft diversions and ridiculous ramblings along the way, his free-wheeling free-flow left us reeling with dizzy delirium.
When it comes to imagination and improvisation, in my opinion, nobody touches Noble. The man in a wheelchair at the front, for instance, was treated to the endless possibilities of what it would be like to have a turbo-charged, cherry-picker style seat.
Noble's impersonations aren't bad either (channelling Derek Acorah channelling Jimmy Saville turned out to be something of a classic).
Why would anyone be prepared to take the long trip midweek to Plymouth for a Ross Noble gig? For me, it's to hear and experience those uncontrollable, uninhibited, roars. And the more he tells us to contract, clench and keep them in, the more we discover that loosening up with laughter is liberating – possibly, for some, in more ways than one. Superb.