That’s the way to do it. Last month America’s Sarah Silverman delivered a disappointing, ill-planned short set. Not Robin Williams. In the past week, as well as entertaining Prince Charles, he prepared for his two solo shows with surprise warm-ups to stunned punters in tiny London clubs, including a converted toilet in Shepherd’s Bush.

As a result he was match fit, armed with local references to Louis Walsh and Tessa Jowell (“what a great name”). He even had a riff about Ken Livingstone fiddling with the traffic lights. Not exactly topical but it revealed some effort.

The audience goodwill was handy because the bulk of the Weapons Of Self-Destruction show dealt with dime-a-dozen subjects: Bush’s word-mangling, Sarah Palin, satnav, voicemail hell and various Popes. There were, however, frequent stand-out lines. On Palin: “Did Ronald Reagan have a kid with Posh Spice?”

His hairy-armed physicality gave these routines an edge. At 57 Williams is not as manic as in his pre-rehab years but he whizzed through accents, flicked his water bottle and jutted out his chin as he built to a terrific closing routine in which he imagined genitalia being designed by committee. There are better storytellers but Williams oozed the kind of charisma umpteen lesser clowns would kill for. Even when jokes were ordinary the Mr Punch lookalike telling them was clearly extraordinary.

Tonight (0844 482 5138, www.gielgud-theatre.com).