I was at a non-showbiz party a few months ago and queuing for the buffet when I found myself next to a comedian who has become a major star in the last few years. After we had picked up our paper plates I offered him a fork. "I don't do cutlery," he said. "You've changed," I replied, quick as a flash.

 

He was having a joke but there was an undercurrent there too. Even when you try to behave like a 'civilian' you can't helped being aware that you are not the person you previously were when mingling with muggles.

 

I was reminded of this incident at Hannah Gadsby's very enjoyable latest show Woof!, performed at the Edinburgh Fringe for a limited run in the huge McEwan Hall. As Gadsby noted, last time they played here seven years ago it was in a room that held 90 people.

 

That show, of course, was Nanette, which was what changed their life, and it's an issue that Gadsby discusses at length onstage. Fame has put them in an odd position. When others are successful the plan is to rinse and repeat. Because Nanette was so raw and because it was about quitting stand-up it is not a formula that can be recycled. 

 

Woof! is not the first post-Nanette show – there was also Douglas, named after Gadsby's dog – but it is the one where success is most keenly addressed, mainly by contrasting life before and after comedy. Now Gadsby stays in top hotels where once they cleaned them and had to dispose of a perfectly formed shit.

 

Gadsby doesn't just entertain, she interrogates herself onstage. Who is Hannah Gadsby? On the question of identity there is a brilliant spectacles-based gag. On the subject of gender identity "butch lesbian" will suffice. 

 

The show is a little slow at the start, maybe because they binned their initial show, which was going to be a "dead dad" show about their late father, and had to start all over again. But gradually themes emerge and coalesce. A throwaway quip about wondering how whales feel about their conversations being recorded takes on more significance later. 

 

And the title presumably refers to their dog, who died leaving Gadsby Douglas-less. Not for long though. An identical canine was quickly acquired. Although they didn't go as far as Barbara Streisand who apparently cloned her dog.

 

Elsewhere there are jokes about Cabbage Patch Dolls (where did they all go?), some playfully barbed sipes at Taylor Swift – “a can of Coke masquerading as a sorority cult” – and a provocative suggestion that one of the problems with social media is that neurotypical people use it but it is more suited to less socially skilled neurodivergent people.

Maybe Gadsby has touched on a possible solution in their set. If only they could clone themself the copy could tour and Gadsby Mark One could stay at home with their dog.