A shipping container in Potterrow on one of the hottest days of the year is not where you expect to find something delightful. More often, it’s where you’d stumble across an illegal rave or a sauna sponsored by Red Bull. Yet somehow, crammed inside, are two of the hottest young comedians on the circuit, killing it both softly and — when the moment demands — right in your face.

First up is Eva Peroni with what can only be described as a splendid, anti-Fringe-trope half-hour. In her early twenties, she already writes like someone who’s been at it for a decade, sticking to what she knows and wringing comedy gold from it. Originally from Livingston — “the Milton Keynes of the North” — she paints a portrait of a life that could easily seem ordinary, but through her lens becomes sharply observed and wickedly funny.

Her set leaps from being sent to Costa Rica, to the chaos of lesbian speed dating, to a cartoon reference so perfectly timed and devastatingly apt it could easily claim “joke of the year” status. Misadventures in the Netherlands land with an easy charm, while barbs and punchlines arrive in such quick succession you realise she’s packing more laughs into thirty minutes than some hardened comics manage in an hour. There’s a twinkly, Gen Z flash to her delivery — irreverent, knowing — yet her material is accessible to anyone who appreciates the craft of a properly turned punchline. The tools are there, the talent’s undeniable, and the trajectory is only going up.

If Peroni is the yin of this double bill, Alvin Bang is the yang — or perhaps, more accurately, the “ya bass.” Hailing from Greenock and now relocated (or dropped) into Edinburgh, Bang delivers a set that’s pure dopamine-adrenaline theatre. It’s an exhilarating mash-up of family tales, vapes, film studios, tourist-trap pubs, the barren romance of Polmont, and — in one sublime tangent — hanging out with Christians purely for kicks.

He’s part philosopher, part Begbie from Trainspotting, with material that feels like it’s been gifted from the angels but only after he’s chibbed them for it. The energy is high yet controlled, with flashes of poetic cynicism amid the chaos. His set ricochets from one thought to the next with instinctive timing — a high-wire act that never loses its balance.

Together, Peroni and Bang are the vampires of the current comedy scene: hungry, gnarly, and intent on swelling their ever-growing army of the undead. So bring your crucifixes and garlic — this is full immersion, brash and glorious.

In a sweltering shipping container that could easily have been unbearable, they’ve built an hour of comedy that feels necessary, thrilling, and, frankly, cooler than both the acts and the air outside.