Edinburgh is awash with young comics facing early midlife crises – some of them as old as 27. But whereas the likes of Simon Amstell and Mark Watson are new to wondering how to deal with success, Sean Hughes has been at the top for 17 years. Hell, after 17 years a man deserves a little crisis, doesn’t he?

It was 1990 when the Irishman became the youngest winner of the Perrier Award. That led to tours, television work and novels. Now, several months since he returned to stand-up after seven years away, he’s here for a lap of honour at the Fringe. He’s 41 and trying to figure out just how middle age should affect a man with an ear for an indie tune and an eye for the girls.

Well, age has not withered the sure way he grabs hold of a gig. Some Fringe comics sidle towards their topic; Hughes hits the ground running. He bursts on stage and tears into an anecdote about a humiliating trip to a record shop. Then he sets his ageing hipsterism against the context of his mid-ranking fame (“people don’t know if they know me from the television or because I live four doors down”) and his singleton status (“I thought that I’d be married with kids by now – well, actually, I thought I’d be divorced with weekend access”).

He celebrates his independence more than he mourns his loneliness. As before, he’s a mix of the smart, the strident and the shabby – “I wish they’d stop sticking free porn on the internet. I’m knackered”. Now, though, he’s mindful that he’s out of step with his peers. The impetus for his return to the stage was getting caught up in the tsunami in Sri Lanka. Being forced to consider what matters to him. Then again, “being human, that feeling lasts for two days, tops”. Humility isn’t really his shtick; he’s an ideas man. Lurking among his lubricious superficiality, though, are sophisticated ideas about the push-pull between freedom and commitment. He could take them even farther.

The first half hour is as punchy and controlled as anything at the Fringe. After that, the focus fades. The playful selfishness of his persona can edge into ungraciousness, even towards his latest meal ticket, as he disses his role in Coronation Street: “I’m not proud, but by God is my Mum proud.”

But his delivery is a delight: he’s conversational but propulsive, nimble at crowd interaction too. He has the great comic’s knack for joining two unconnected thoughts and making the jump feel not just natural but also necessary. Shame that his showmanship self-destructs for an indulgent ending that invites us to sing along to an obscure Waterboys track. But this is a convincing, often captivating comeback all the same.

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