I STILL remember, in more innocent days, seeing the first adverts for The League of Gentlemen, and being thoroughly excited at the prospect of this dark and grotesque sketch show.

Little did I realise then how inventive, subtly subversive and at times overflowing with pathos this mad, beautiful show would turn out to be, like a crazy, cracked circus mirror held up to reality.

But great League enthusiast though I have been for many years, I have never seen Mark Gatiss, Steve Pemberton and Reece Shearsmith on stage, nor enjoyed, live, the writing of unseen fourth member of the troupe Jeremy Dyson.

What a pleasure it was to rectify that at the BIC on Tuesday.

The on-stage trio, who don’t appear to have aged, slipped back into their old roles with the familiarity of those who mentally never left, despite their only real warm up in a fair few years being a short (superb) one-off series released at Christmas.

The gents opened in formal dress with something of a greatest hits run, with theatrical spoof troupe Legz Akimbo’s educational ‘Perv Swerv’ play, a dash of Go Johnny Go Go Go Go, Pam Douve’s latest bid for orange-juice stardom and a pleasingly unsettling visit from hyper-macho Euro-landlord Pop.

Even returning sketches had a twist or two, while the show highlighted the terrific acting talent of the League, a quality often underrated in comedians these days.

The second half switched to costumes with a fun house ride of daft sets, special effects and impressively speedy make-up removal.

New stories for the likes of everyone’s favourite shopkeepers Edward and Tubbs, the newly ordained Papa Lazarou, the newly resurrected restart officer Pauline (complete with video flashback to one of the show’s more wince-inducing moments - ‘no really, as an actor I regret that’ - Shearsmith) and haplessly sinister veterinarian Mr Chinnery were as funny as ever.

I particularly enjoyed an appropriately tongue in cheek appearance by Herr Lipp, who required the services of two impressively game audience members to help him say some German phrases.

The song and dance numbers were, as usual, very droll if a bit short.

The show was not as fresh, perhaps, as it might have been. There was nothing radical here, but all four gents are these days working on a whole host of other projects, not least Pemberton and Shearsmith’s wonderful anthology series Inside No.9.

It seems very much as though they embarked on this tour as much to enjoy themselves in these roles as to entertain, and that love for the art shines through.

It feels a bit like this might be a last hurrah for the good, humble folk of Royston Vasey.

If so it was a worthy farewell. The League could never outstay their welcome, but at the same time there is no ‘need’ for more.

Still, I can’t help but hope they never leave.