The latest from Goers (or the incorrectly-umlaut-ed ‘Goërs’), the “eleventh in a trilogy”, is still funny and surprisingly sweet, and yet there’s a melancholia here, which he tries to underplay with varying success.

Taking to the stage after complete darkness (and goofy old Lesley Gore), Peter repeated some favourite gags to pleasing effect, especially the ones about the audience being “pre-dead” and how he has to “pee in morse code” these days, before sitting for an extended roll call of friends that he lost last year. Speaking fondly and sadly about singer Toni Lamond, journo Margaret Brenton, artist Jungle Phillips, and others, this turned out to be the highlight of the show, with often rude and rollicking memories of a gallery of colourful late-greats. And you could see that he was, at times, quite moved.

After a musical interlude with old friends (and some ‘Smacker’), he switched to typically biting material: a flashback to his time in Cuba, and how he fears for the place because of you-know-who; that tedious small town in South Australia that he refuses to name (the one where “the tide went out and never came back”); and cool one-liners aplenty, as read aloud from a list. It was all lovely stuff, and delivered with gusto, no matter how fragile he occasionally seemed.

The only real issue here was the absence of Anne Wills (his ‘Rosebud’), but hopefully she’ll be back next year for the lucky dozen.