The Court of King Charles II

There's a noticeable lack of character comedy on the Fringe this year - performers appear to be opting for TV-friendly sketch show formats in favour of delivering a whole hour of material as an alter ego.

Bridget Christie's endearingly shambolic show falls somewhere between the two camps. Resplendent in lace, velvet and buckle shoes, she reckons she's a dead ringer for dead monarch Charles II, and has consequently developed something of an obsession with the spaniel-loving royal.

After a few false starts ('Has anyone here loaded a musket?' inexplicably fails to elicit any response), the material about such aspects of 17th century as religious strife and terror attacks proves more successful. Guy Fawkes puts in an appearance to complain about how he's remember remembered, then Oliver Cromwell miserably sets the record straight about how he became a puritan.

There's plenty of audience participation, ranging from group terrorism to sports, but Christie doesn't seem entirely comfortable on stage alone without a comedy instrument to play or some rubber hands to wear. She insists on drawing attention to the show's weaker sections, fretting aloud every time she inadvertantly 'creates a lull' in between tossing her mane of curls and executing double-takes.

King Charles curses Ricky Gervais for getting first dibs on Edinburgh Castle, but Bridget does her best to provide a mini-tattoo complete with fireworks and music. The dub reggae finale is inspired.