And for this he pays over market rates. Is it too much to ask to be able to afford a house, Jack begs of the audience, and who could argue with his compellingly told tale?

Referencing Paul Kelly, he wants the cake and the candle but can't get them despite his best efforts. A soul-destroying stint in advertising (the office being located right next door to his toxic home front) with his Eastern Suburbs entitled douchebag colleagues and pushy South African supervisor has him asking Henry Thoreau where is the life he had imagined, an intelligent guy lucky to have been born in Australia to good parents.

How can he go confidently in the direction of his dreams when the odds, as calculated by the Baby Boomers and Negative Gearers, seem stacked against him.

It's a little sad that the biggest laugh of the night comes from an anecdote involving his colleagues teasing him about his name (Jack Gow, san choi bow, lettuce cup, lettuce cup!)

This is not wet-your-pants absurdist comedy, but rather wry, gentle storytelling from a soft soul.