Accused of intellectual snobbery, Stewart Lee hits back, pointing out that it’s a valid performance device, under the theatrical technique of Brechtian alienation. Thus explaining himself and reinforcing the criticism in one kamikaze blow.

The friction is all part of the rules of engagement of his Comedy Vehicle, which are well-established now it enters its fourth series. He takes the Himalayan moral and cerebral high ground, making no attempt to conceal his disappointment with the crowd – branding them ignorant, stupid snobs who just don’t get him, understanding only the easiest lowest common denominator pap. Thus he’s the underdog, fighting against circumstance to try to get his highbrow thoughts across.

The dynamic is all about status, and this series opener made that very clear. It was billed as concerning wealth and social responsibility, but he digresses into a long grumble about Graham Norton trumping him to scoop a comedy Bafta. It forensically picks the weak spots in Norton’s show while purporting to praise him, yet revealing Lee’s insecurities about his relative standing. Or at least he insecurities of the ‘character of Stewart Lee’ as the comic always describes his complex on-stage persona.

The contrast between Norton’s accessible quick, camp wit and Lee’s carefully constructed stand-up couldn’t be starker. Although a disclaimer to the routine comes in the deliciously reluctant grilling by Chris Morris, in which Lee begrudgingly acknowledges that the Bafta was for comedy AND entertainment. Norton is undeniably entertaining, Lee concedes, while accepting his own work ‘isn’t entertainment. No one would think that.’

Disingenuous, of course. He can craft proper jokes – the gag about orienteering with Napalm Death did deserve more, he was right about that – and has beautifully constructed metaphors that imprint themselves in your memory. Lee might demand your attention, but he rewards it with phrases and ideas that resonate.

And if you think he’s got it in for Graham Norton, wait until Lee skewers James Corden, heaping sarcastic scorn on the idea that the star of Lesbian Vampire Killers might be a genuine fan of his highfalutin stand-up.

It turns out – as he tacitly promised us it would – that all these complaints about more successful comedians do come back to make a point about wealth, albeit a very personal one. Fuelled by a jealousy he’d never admit, Lee mulls how a wider mainstream status might help him pay his mortgage, how he should give the public what they want without fretting about such outdated concepts as artistic merit.

This most credible of stand-ups would never crack of course, though there is perhaps a slight nod to the ‘entertainment’ genre this series, as he seems a more playful in his grumpiness than ever before before. There’s a glint in the eye, letting on that all his audience baiting, all his jibes about fellow comedians, are all just part of one big meta-joke – which, as he points out in response to a zero-star review, is well in the remit of the job. And it’s a job he does like no other, despite so many would-be imitators.