There’s a bit of a double take as the cast of Yuck strut onto stage, and I use the term ‘strut’ deliberately. Moustaches and obvious crotch bulges match the masculine posturing; that macho pelvis thrusting walk, that leer, that posturing to impress. That strut.

All the while, this acrobatic troupe of women are clambering over each other, on shoulders, on heads, on backs and fronts. And strutting.

This is a piss take of the male gender of the first order. A few blokes in the audience were already looking taken aback, recognising that the piss was being taken out of their tropes in a gentle but very funny way. For the most part, everyone else was along for the ride.

And what a ride it was. The shock and horror of the male gaze being interrupted by the sight of blood on the back of a skirt. The confessions of what women have done under the influence of alcohol, tempered by the brutal “I had half a glass of water and killed a man”.

Subverting the dominant paradigm wasn’t confined to gender roles; while we were not going to get away without arial ropes, the grace of the art form was turned back on itself as the clearly talented performer managed to become the gawky, hapless loser in the air. Brilliant. Love in a Nutella jar just has to be seen, and the hula hoops act was the closest we got to a regular performance; even then they had to give it a flip.

A highlight is the chorus line to Tom Jones She’s a Lady. No bush ballet here, rather a floral bouquet, a girl garden.

There’s more, much more. Rope skipping, nose piercing with a nail, emojis, and Abba-esque finale looking for a Man After Midnight. This is fabulous entertainment, biting satire without cruelty, but making the point ever so clearly. Beginning and ending with a bulge in the dacks, this is Fringe at its best.