Ross Noble, Apollo

"The Bible; it goes on and on and on," says Ross Noble. "And don’t they annoy you, those people who go on and on and on..." Funny that, because the Northumbrian comic goes on and on and on himself, and by the end of this lengthy gig last night I felt like I was trapped in a broken lift with a 19th-hole bore.

The first half of Things meandered in Noble’s usual way, going off on so many tangents that it took 20 minutes to get to the punchline of his Michael Jackson gag. It was indeed very funny and a cut above the usual lazy references to the recently departed king of pop, but by then Noble had gone down so many alleyways, roundabouts, byways, cut-throughs - oh lordy, it’s catching - that I had forgotten how the story started.

Noble has made a name for himself as comedy’s greatest improviser, creating brilliant and surreal comedic curlicues on subjects as diverse as goblins and carpets tiles, seemingly at will. I don’t want to spoil it for you, but actually most of his act is scripted - he just slots in one of his riffs as a prompt suggests itself. So a latecomer’s entrance led into a section on how it would be lovely to be transported around on angel wings to avoid the traffic, or a spot-on send-up of Jeremy Kyle’s creepy, faux-concerned manner came after a friendly heckle, but it could conceivably be the other way round with just a little adjustment to the segue.

Much of Noble’s material has flashes of brilliance - his invention of catting (like dogging but done under cars) is inspired - but it’s all delivered at the same frantic pace. And there is no reflective element to the evening, not even when he mentions his new daughter; that’s just a cue for a lame story about an annoying shop assistant in Baby Gap.

It’s such a shame, as Noble has a terrific comic brain and a huge frame of reference (Medusa, the order of cherubim, ketamine and Moses were just some of his throwaway lines) but he desperately needs either a director or to develop some self-discipline. Ken Dodd can do three hours on stage because he makes people sick with laughter; Noble just made me sick of the sound of his voice. Perhaps being fined £100 a minute for going over his allotted time (as he told us when he started going over his allotted time) will focus his attention.

Bung your fines my way, I was thinking, when unbelievably Noble came back on stage to do another 15 - count ’em - minutes, this time a Q&A with the audience that elicited such riveting information as the name of his new daughter and why his hair is so bedraggled these days. I’d like to believe the comic went on so long because he wants to give an adoring public value for money, but the Apollo was far from full. Are you going to tell him, or shall I?

• Book for Ross Noble at the Apollo Theatre, London W1 until 24 October.
• His DVD Nobleism is released on 2 November