Christopher McArthur-Boyd has always had a knack for wrapping up existential dread in the packaging of a delicious fish supper — and since he’s in Edinburgh, he’s of course added salt and sauce to help mask the taste of modern life.

In Howling At The Moon, he’s back doing what he does best: a mic, a can of Irn-Bru, and what feels like the distilled essence of being thirty-something, Scottish, and stuck somewhere between youth and whatever comes next.

The show opens surprisingly big. There’s a strange sort of Elon-Musk-on-ketamine energy — a flash of theatricality you wouldn’t expect from this king of lo-fi, confessional stand-up. But he quickly settles into his groove: low-slung charisma, whip-smart writing, and that trademark Glasgow drawl that makes even a half-arsed thought sound like it should be spray-painted on Sauchiehall Street: “Christopher was here, ya bass.”

So what’s changed? Well, Christopher has grown up — slightly. He’s now in a long-distance relationship with a fellow comedian, has been gigging in the furthest-flung outposts of the UK — the shallow end of the posh gene pool — and is quietly trying to figure out what it all means.

The show is packed with his usual flair: the fluctuating quality of nature documentaries, the dread of dining alone, and why nostalgia doesn’t hit the same when you were born in the ’90s rather than living it. This is a generation, he reckons, tricked into thinking everything good happened in the past.

It’s observational, yes — but Christopher has a unique ability to take these small, personal spirals and spin them into something unexpectedly resonant. His journey with the Scottish Travis Bickle taxi driver is one of the highlights: funny, surreal, oddly poignant.

There’s definite growth here. He’s not standing still. The structure is tighter, the gear changes smoother, and there’s a quiet confidence pulsing underneath — even when he’s talking about feeling lost.

What really stands out is his control. Even when the pace ramps up, he never loses his place. The jokes are tightly written but feel totally off-the-cuff. It’s that rare, real-deal stage comfort — the kind you can’t fake.

By the end, the title Howling At The Moon makes perfect sense. This is a man trying to make peace with the beautiful madness of modern life — sometimes laughing at it, sometimes crying at it, and sometimes just yelling into the void, hoping something comforting howls back.

Christopher McArthur-Boyd remains the gold standard of Scottish stand-up: funny, thoughtful, gently weird, and utterly relatable.

Still one of the best doing it. Still transforming. Still howling.
And these days — he’s got bigger claws and sharper teeth.