Omigod Lisa Lambe is like so pitch perfect as the gormless Sorcha. Rory Keenan is hilariously edgy as Ross's criminal son, Ronan, and is handy on a BMX as well. Philip O'Sullivan and Susan Fitzgerald give nicely judged, more understated performances as Ross's parents. The play is over-reliant on an underdeveloped character, but Rory Nolan plays Ross with such brash energy and overbearing confidence that he's just about compelling.

And everybody seems to leave happy at the end.

So what's wrong? For a first-time playwright, Paul Howard has done a good job of getting Ross physically on stage. But he hasn't really written a play.

It's a series of two-handed sketches. Some of the ones between Ross and Sorcha, and Ross and Ronan, work very well. But much of the writing is like polyfilla, there to fill in the cracks between the jokes with something that looks like a plot.

Sorcha comes home to find Ross in bed with the Belarusian nanny: 'Ireland's Call' is playing on the stereo and Ross is smeared in Sorcha's organic hummus. Good gags, but there is no particular wit or comedy in the dialogue between them or in their interaction. A scene with obvious dramatic potential, as farce, is largely wasted on two quick jokes (plus a baring of Ross's bottom).

Ross long ago crossed the line from satire to homage. (That may have happened when the column in this paper was accompanied with a box inviting readers to "text Ross", which they did, with alacrity and apparent lack of irony. ) The biggest laughs are not at the expense of Ross and his ilk, but at the targets of his abuse: poor people ("scobies", who live in "Knackeragua"), ugly people, and Eddie O'Sullivan and Ronan O'Gara.

(The cleverer jokes, though, are the ones aimed at Ross and Sorcha. She is on a "tape worm diet", where a worm is inserted in her stomach so she can eat all she wants. Their baby's first word is "focaccia". Ross thinks work is something "non nationals" do. ) If the show works, it is because it gives its audience three things they find funny: an exaggerated version of themselves (or their mates), offensive descriptions of others, and exaggerated versions of their favourite accents.

Paul Howard has leavened this simple formula with a good dose of wit and some topical comedy, and Jimmy Fay and co have given his script a good outing.

As long as the Celtic Tiger lasts just a little bit longer, it'll likely be a roaring success. Meanwhile, I'll be getting drunk in the Ice Bar.