As part of the after-dinner entertainment on a cruise ship recently, I encountered a couple of comedians. One claimed he had recently shared a booking with a topless ventriloquist. I bet nobody saw her lips move.

What was noticeable in both acts, given the seaborne clientele, was the concentration on jokes about ageing, like the chap whose wife, after five gins, undresses back in the cabin, looks in the mirror and bursts into tears, lamenting that she’s got a double chin, her boobs have dropped and everything is sagging: ‘Say something, Henry, to cheer me up.’