Funny Women Showcase at Leicester Square Theatre Basement

That said, there is still a nice vibe of oestrogen-fuelled comfort filling Leicester Square Theatre's Basement tonight, courtesy of compere Annabel Giles. Her yummy mummy appearance, razor-sharp asides and hilarious anecdotes on the perils of taking her teenage son to gigs leave us in no doubt she's one of those parents you were always envious of on the Saturday sports fields. One gag about Michael McIntyre inviting her son on stage for a 'swear-off' at one of his shows has the audience in stitches – the typically polite McIntyre began with “bum”, while Giles' son countered with “cockmaster”.

Also buoyantly likeable is Louisa Theobald, whose tales of hell via a bookstore customer service job are instantly familiar. Particularly inspired is her 'regional roulette' game, in which she puts on a different accent for every new customer. “I made you think I was Scottish!”, she gleefully shouts in their face, “Guess the customer isn't always right, eh!”

Political comedy is always a tricky thing to master, and newcomer Bernie Pendle is unfortunately not quite there yet. My heart goes out to her obvious nerves, which may be responsible for the silence during her act – her lack of commitment in delivery makes her material on the NHS, spin doctors and the like sound more like a series of complaints than a comedy act.

Main support act Rachel Stubbings shows why she was runner-up in 2008's Funny Women Awards – she's completely relaxed on stage, giving each gag its proper time to simmer. She's also just the kind of stand-up I enjoy – a jaded East London scenester who's completely willing to take the piss out of herself for being so. “I have 900 Facebook friends, and that's with a recent cull”, she says proudly. Another highlight is her recounting of flirting with a seemingly hot be-sunglassed man in a beer garden who turned out to be monstrously ugly when he took off his shades.

Then it's time for the always kooky Bridget Christie, bedecked in plastic antennae and goggles in her surrealist turn as A. Ant. The audience is at first, unsurprisingly, thrown by the appearance of a grown woman in an ant costume, but we gradually work out Christie's game – a clever satire on the pigeon-holing of minority groups in comedy, pretty appropriate for a women-only gig. “I'm actually an expert on Islam, but no, all they ever want is the ant jokes!”, she moans, before reading out from a notebook of crackers like “What do you call an ant with breast implants? Buoyant!”