How right he is. Stewart Lee doesn’t need critics. He needs help.

But the show’s producers omitted two key words from the show’s title – Trapped In. It appears unsuspecting audiences will be Trapped In A Room With A Stew over the next few months.

And Stewart Lee has lost it. Clearly in the throes of a mid-life crisis, he tumbled onto the stage in a cowboy jacket, red-faced and drinking what appeared to be ribena – the crazy ones are always infantalised aren’t they?

Speaking in non-sequiturs, inventing demands for racism that no one in his politically correct and liberal fanbase made – it was a worrying start. His hour and a half test gig turned out to be more of a cry for help.

At one point, he broke down as he recounted in hideous detail a childhood trauma where he was kicked into a urinal by several schoolboys. He later berated the audience for not laughing at this disturbing insight into his damaged mind.

I think I can speak for everyone who was there on Tuesday night when I say nobody understood what Stewart Lee was on about, and we were laughing because we were very afraid. Most concerningly, he began to eulogise stand up comics who had taken their own lives. He implied that we had driven them to it, and were likely to drive him to a similarly desperate act if we didn’t start laughing more.

But we couldn’t have driven his friends to suicide, many these deaths occurred before 50% of Tuesday’s audience was even born and it was the first time we had come together to comprise that specific audience. Lunacy!

All I can say is, it was tragic and if anyone was there who was genuinely laughing they ought to feel ashamed of themselves.

No one is helping Stewart by laughing. Laughing only rewards negative behaviours and it will make it harder for him to come to terms with the clear deterioration of his mental state. Criticising Stewart won’t help either; Stewart is not the man we once knew.

We all know it’s inappropriate to discuss your bowel functions at length with strangers. We all know it’s inappropriate to share the diminutive names you’ve given your wife’s private parts. If I were to play armchair psychiatrist, I’d say it looks like some sort of a right brain disorder. Hey, I’m no expert – all I know is that he’s over the edge.

We can’t hold him responsible.

I blame his handlers, managers, producers. They’re sapping the last drops of humour from the poor man, continuing to exploit him when he is clearly burnt out. It’s Britney Spears all over again.

After a twenty-minute interval Stewart reemerged in his standard smart-casual garb, manly pint in hand. The small break had clearly helped him recover a little of his former self. He told jokes about national identity and Moldavians, and his cat Paul Nuttalls of the UKIPs, and everyone enjoyed it. It was really lovely to see.

What Stewart needs at this crucial juncture in his life, as he traverses the declining plains of middle age and early onset menopause – as he tests his new material – what Stewart needs is a critical friend. We must stop senselessly laughing because he’s demanded we laugh in a megalomanic fervour.

It’s up to us to set boundaries so that, when he goes out there on the telly in December, he doesn’t look silly. Go and see his show and laugh with him – not at him – so he knows what’s really funny and what’s not. It will help him.

Odds are, you will still end up laughing anyway. It’s not your fault, he’s naturally very funny.

Stewart. If you, or anyone close to Stewart is reading this, there is a non-judgmental organisation called the Samaritans. You can reach them on this number 0845 790 9090.

We all love you and want to see you get the help you need.