Jen Kirkman doesn’t seem to like critics very much. Well she certainly doesn’t seem to like the critic from the Guardian who gave this show two stars. If you want to see what she thinks of him have a look at her Twitter timeline earlier this week when his review appeared. The night I was in she made her feelings clear by suggesting that "their problem was a woman was talking" and calling the critic in question a “cunt”.*

The show, entitled I Know What I’m Doing And Other Lies I Tell Myself, does have its faults but I don’t think it is anywhere near as bad as the Guardian suggested. It is, as the Bostonian comic makes clear, more of a storytelling show than a stand-up set, but having said that there are consistent laughs throughout, mostly at Kirkman’s expense as she tells the story of her early dysfunctional years with charm and self-deprecating wit.

Her autobiographical format is fairly conventional, kicking off with a portrait of the performer’s eccentric Catholic family. Her mother was convinced the world was going to end in 2000 so said her daughter might as well follow her dreams of stardom. As a child Kirkman clearly didn’t quite fit in. Having loved the movie Amadeus she went to school dressed like Mozart. Let’s face it, she points out, if you can’t dress as a classical composer as a kid when can you dress as a classical composer?

She briskly takes us through major events in her youth, from trying to put on a dance piece but falling out with her schoolchums who saw the project differently to losing her virginity. Kirkman created such a web of white lies about having had sex early that at college she had to buy condoms and then toss them in the bin to make it look like she was constantly at it.

If, unlike the Guardian, you don’t mind self-absorption this is all good fun. She does some ditzy dancing and there is an air of a breathless, latterday Annie Hall about her, coming across as someone who doesn’t quite see the world the way others see it. Her story about trying to channel James Dean when she auditioned for drama school is deliciously daft.

For me the only problem was the length. There was a neat call back at the 60-minute mark which seemed to tie things up nicely, but then there was a ten minute coda regarding a road rage incident in which Kirkman finally thinks that she sees herself as she really is. I'm not sure if this was needed. The show is hardly perfect but if you don’t laugh at her interpretative dance to the Beach Boys’ California Girls call lost property, I think you’ve mislaid your sense of humour. 

At Soho Theatre until July 23. Tickets here. She is also in Manchester on July 24. Tickets here.

*Today she was talking about the reviewer in question again and tweeted to some other comics: "We should all have a Brian Logan is a c*** tea party."