If you like old-school vaudeville, masterfully delivered, then Canadian clown Jamie Adkins is the man for you.

I arrive a few minutes late, and I don’t warm to him straightaway. Perhaps because I’m cold and wet and out of breathe, having run to the theatre across Edinburgh in the rain. Perhaps because publicity promises someone battling with everyday objects, and instead what I’m seeing at the moment of arrival (5 minutes in) is a pretty regular juggling act on a stage set with the standard-issue leather suitcase beloved of so many clowns, a mic stand, half a drum kit (snare and hi-hat, anyway) and a pair of metal tepee-leg tripods that are obviously some sort of circus equipment. None of which are found in most people’s everyday lives.  There follows some play with dressing/undressing, mostly an opportunity for some perfectly competent but unexceptional hat-juggling.

Adkins’ clown is neither brash nor clumsy nor self-effacing, but rather a regular guy in a grey suit (albeit one lined with mauve silk) who allows his inner thoughts to burst out in slightly sarcastic ejaculations (‘hello?’ ‘oh!’) or mildly ironic comments, in English or French, often playing with language similarities and differences. ‘Magic!” he says, then ‘ Vous etes Francais? Magique!’

He starts to play the snare and hi-hat with what looks to be a fork, and I start to get a bit more interested in him. A bag of oranges comes out, thrown to the audience, who throw them back for him to catch on the fork in his mouth. He shows obvious experience in audience interaction. Next, the ping-pong balls mouth-juggling trick most of us have seen is nicely developed into a game of table tennis with himself – bat, ball, mouth, and suitcase all playing their part.

Although these takes on juggling are splendid and entertaining, it is as an equilibrist that Adkins excels. The last third of the show is superb. First, a really great trick-ladder act – we’re most definitely in Buster Keaton territory here. Then, the Grand Finale slackwalk act, also beautifully done.

Although it is for the most part a straight-down-the-line vaudeville show, there are a couple of touches of postmodern performance (although some might argue that so-called postmodern irony is as old as performance itself). At one point, he announces a minute’s interval – and sits down for a minute, looking out at the audience.

By the end of the show any cynicism or reluctance to engage on my part has disappeared, and I find myself applauding as loudly as those around me in this almost-full house at New Town Theatre, on a rainy Sunday afternoon at the Edinburgh Fringe.