As soon as Barry Humphries' besequined battleship of an alter ego descends from the rafters on a giant pair of her own eyeglasses, Dame Edna Everage sets upon her audience like a drunken, matronly Muppet, wanting nothing more than to save us from our poor, pathetic lives. It's the same old shtick songs are sung, ticket holders insulted, gladiolas waved but also constant is the Dame's affection for her possums, for which we should be thankful. Because if she's going to bring your grandfather on stage and put him in a pair of ass-less chaps, you want to know she's doing it out of love.

