Ruaridh Miller arrives not with a thunderous entrance, but with a hiccup so Fringe on-brand – the Bluetooth won’t connect to his phone intro music. Miller strolls onstage to silence but the crowd are with him, no matter the aesthetic challenges.

Within seconds, he has the room. The mishap becomes the opening gambit, setting the tone for an hour where charm and wit outweigh spectacle. The name of the show becomes his first riff — a playful unpacking of the trials of having “Ruaridh” on a passport, from baffled shopkeepers to mispronunciations abroad. It’s a neat framing device, establishing him as a genial guide through his life’s eccentricities. From there, the set opens out into a smartly constructed mosaic: growing up in Dumfries, finding his footing in Edinburgh, and a glorious show highlight about gym semantics and a goth personal trainer. Each segment feels self-contained yet interconnected, with an eye for detail that makes his world instantly recognisable. Miller’s targets are chosen with care: his self vegan snobbery is skewered without cruelty, the performative earnestness of LinkedIn dismantled with precision, pigeon-denial conspiracy theorists roasted in passing. A story about Wojtek, the Polish Soldier Bear commemorated on Princes Street, — both delightfully silly and quietly affectionate towards his adopted city.

What makes the hour land is not just the writing, though that’s its strongest asset, but the balance of personality and pace. Miller is affable without being ingratiating, his delivery confident but never confrontational and sneaks an unexpected punchline in seamlessly. He exits again without musical cues after delivering the goods of a comic who trusts his work. And the audience loves him.

On a festival circuit crowded with gimmicks, It’s Pronounced “Ruaridh” feels refreshingly unforced — an excellent assured, statement-making debut from someone who has the chops to go a lot further. Catch him before he goes Bon Jovi huge.