Act Two is much tighter, as the Brightonian addresses hitting her half-century, undergoing a classic midlife crisis (sports car very much included) and splitting from her wife. But there’s weaker material too, not redeemed by Lyons’ strenuous corpsing at her own jokes. There are effective moments in that first half, as when an Austrian doctor offers to “pop back in” after that winter sports wipeout.

It culminates with our host becoming the public face of alopecia after losing her hair to stress – prompted, she says, by midlife angst, among other things. Act One roams across Covid, an accident Lyons had while skiing, and her supposedly faltering career – which tees up a risky running joke about how little she wants to be here. Most of that comes after the interval, when the show is strongest. But there are also vivid jokes and set-pieces here, in an account of hitting the (just past) halfway stage of life that’s distinguished by emotional honesty as well as good humour. Lyons’ show isn’t perfect: the first half is partly throat-clearing before the main event, and sometimes her depiction of existential drift aged 50 tends towards the sitcom. Or so I found myself thinking midway through Zoe Lyons’ touring show Bald Ambition.

G iven how often comics joke about getting old – all those grumpy gags about young people and the confusing nature of modern living – it’s surprising how seldom one encounters meaningful consideration of the midlife crisis in standup.

Midlife madness