To see a true comedy internet phenomenon, Google Russell Peters. Despite minimal advance publicity his O2 show sold out in a blink thanks to a fanatical web following. His YouTube clips have had more hits than piano-playing kittens, ranting Christian Bale and Obama’s inauguration combined.

In the flesh it is hard to get truly excited about this Canada-born offspring of Indian parents. Peters is a very polished observational comedian who is hugely popular in the Anglo-Asian community but his predictable patter hardly justifies his star status. Although certainly not racist, Peters relies heavily on racial stereotyping. The Chinese are always driving hard bargains, Indians always want to save money, Sri Lankans apparently run all the gas stations. It is a relentless form of kneejerk gagsmithery, which, combined with a skilful selection of accents and bug-eyed expressions, goes down a storm but rarely takes any risks.

Occasionally there are moments with potential. An extended anecdote about being given a $20,000 gift by the King of Jordan only for Condoleezza Rice to receive a pricier bauble has some lovely self-mocking lines. Yet by the end of 90 minutes he was doing hackneyed riffs on the difference between men and women, a topic thoroughly flogged to death over the years. Peters is undeniably good but Arena good? Hardly.