Has Billy Connolly been around forever? It can certainly seem like it. The first job of Live in London appears to be deciding whether this is a negative or positive statement. It arises from his very first step on stage, with the seemingly always grey turned a rather Dumbledoreesque off-white. He wastes no time getting started, and slips in to the comedic groove of forty years with no hesitation. Some of the targets are a bit dated; routines about sat-navs and about directions feel rather nineties. Also, some of his objections get a little confused- radio 4 is wonderful, yet the worst thing to be in life is “beige.” Billy is not quite as aggressive as he once was, and his shouting degenerates into genuine name-calling and (dare I say it) moaning rather than just cocky exuberance. His laughter is as infectious as ever, but some observations are not as quotable as once before, with strange tangents on class getting rather tiresome. And yet overall, this is wonderful comedy. Connolly has the balance between silliness and intelligent comedy spot on, and be it an impression of pan pipes or the crucial punch line, the laughs are constant and loud. The whole set seems casual, and very personal, as if thought up on the way to the venue. His stories may be ridiculous, but are just told so well that you are soon deeply involved with all of them, and it is impossible to turn one off half-way through. Connolly is not trying any new tricks this late in the game, and several references to “his audience” suggest he is going to get support whatever he does. However, what he does is very, very good, and never drops away from being great entertainment.