Rome and Away: Michael Monkhouse enjoys Diane Spencer in Italy’s capital.

Born in the North, bred in the South, educated at Cambridge and now happily settled in the Eternal City, Michael Monkhouse joins Giggle Beats for a new regular column – and has plenty to say about comedy in Italy’s capital.

Looking for stand-up comedy in Rome is like looking for a virgin in light entertainment. And looking for quality stand-up…let’s stick with the Vatican, the Colosseum and the pizzas, eh?

So when I heard Diane Spencer – best newcomer in Chortle’s 2011 awards – was treading the boards, I almost choked on my cappuccino. Especially when I discovered the venue was Cocktail Comedy Club, one of the few initiatives aiming to redress the balance and one of the few venues when you can see a live show and enjoy a pint for less than the price of a takeaway pizza.

And when Diane lurched onstage, I felt I was in safe hands even before she’d opened her motormouth. She has an enthusiasm and presence and innate coolness that blow you away and keep you hooked and…help her get away with the kind of subject matter she’s rightly (in)famous for.

Mind you, it all starts innocently enough. In classic style she kicks off with a little banter about the venue, Rome itself, the audience. Only difference is it goes on for an impressive five minutes, and it’s as slick as it is fresh. Plus she handles the audience with charm, drawing them in by seeing them as individuals rather than relying on safe, tried-and-tested clangers of the ‘A funny thing happened on the way here’ ilk. It warms us up, gets us in the mood and wins us over with class.

It’s also a stark and thrilling contrast to the set itself. For this is definitely one for Aunt Maude. Masturbation, disease, even Berlusconi; it’s all there and it’s relentless, gross, shocking stuff.

It’s also wildly, blissfully funny stuff.

I don’t want to delve into that ‘How offensive is comedy?’ debate, partly because this is neither the time nor place for that sort of thing, partly because it isn’t funny anyway. Suffice to say that there came a point in Ben Elton’s career – when he went from Motormouth maniac to cuddly ‘Man From Auntie’ persona – where he thought being rude was automatically funny. It isn’t. You have to be clever and witty and entertaining with it – Bob Monkhouse’s live act, anyone? – and these are all adjectives that describe Diane in droves and then some.

Whether she’s miming her boyfriend playing with himself, giving a complete (for some, too complete) analysis of the hair sprouting happily from her mole, or explaining what women really think when pleasuring their partners, it’s always smart, honest and effortlessly hilarious. After all, a mighty routine is a mighty routine, whether it’s about the meaning of life or the meaninglessness of having a poo in the morning. Best of all, the bile is perfectly balanced – men are filthy but women are filthier, adults are liars but kids are wheedling, sex is fun but it’s best practiced alone.

I once read someone walked out in the middle of Diane’s set. Now that is shocking. All I could see was a talented, creative individual, an audience laughing and wincing in equal measures, and another reason why Rome – land of culture, religion and pasta – suffers from a time difference. It’s thirty years behind England.