Having read and enjoyed a number of Gervase Phinn’s best-selling autobiographical books about his life and work as a school’s inspector, I was keen to witness the man himself on stage.

His show at St George’s Hall last Friday was a sell-out and was attended by a very mixed audience with a wide age-range. A number of these were teachers as we discovered during Gervase’s humourous tales about school inspectors.

From the first minute, he proved himself to be an engaging speaker and his ludicrous-sounding, yet true, tales and sharp observations soon had the audience rolling in the aisles. We learned a lot about the man. He informed us that despite being a school inspector he didn’t go to a public school, the posh-sounding name Gervase is actually a result of his pregnant mum’s loving of French yogurt.

In the first half, with a charming smile and a warm twinkle in his eye, Gervase made the most of his recollections. He recounted an early assignment that necessitated the return to his own infant school, where he met his old schoolmistress (and now headmistress) Miss Greenhalgh, a lady surprised at his level of achievement considering he was an ordinary child who “never sat at the top table”.

It is clear to see that Mr Phinn is a man who enjoyed his job and thrived upon the innately inquisitive nature of children, even if they can be exasperating as they butt in, or flummox and confound with their often unique takes on the world. Importantly, he also has a clear idea of how the British education system should be run.

After the interval, Gervase returned in a change of outfit and a garish jacket, which looked to me to be cobbled together from an assortment of school blazers.

This half of the show was slightly more risqué than the first segment, as he regaled us with tales of Belgian blue bulls and urinating schoolboys. A piece about an inner-city assignment showed the rougher edges of the job, but the characters were no less endearing to the listener.

This was a thoroughly charming, innocent and humourous way to pass an evening, the result of which means I will never forget how to spell the word diarrhoea.