Rosie Jones was going to write a gag-packed show, she tells us – but then she got too busy. Delivered with her signature wicked grin, that’s a near-the-knuckle joke, given Jones’s TV ubiquity these days. Happy to report, then, that – hectic celebrity schedule notwithstanding – Triple Threat is another endearing and sly stage outing for the 33-year-old, chronicling her life as a national-treasure-in-waiting, ascending the property ladder but – judging by all the smutty gags and juvenile behaviour – making few other moves in maturity’s direction.
Take Jones’s opening gambit, which finds her impatient for the death of David Attenborough – not a blazingly original pose for a comedian in search of off-colour laughs. For Jones, it’s purely pragmatic: “Penguin Boy” is blocking her access to the national-treasure pantheon. One gear-grinding segue later, she is telling us about house-hunting and buying a flat, a process that finally reveals the usefulness of her dad, and which Jones conducts (a droll running joke, this) along the lines of her only property-world reference point, the board game Monopoly.
