Danny Bhoy, Bloomsbury Theatre

Danny Bhoy is big in Scotland and Canada and huge Down Under, as they say, but is a surprisingly unfamiliar name to many. I'm not sure, other than a lack of a television presence, why he's not as well-known throughout the UK as he should be: he's an extremely affable, laidback Scot whose brand of observational, conversational comedy is easy on the ear.

His latest show, Dear Epson, borrows heavily from Henry Root, in that it's framed around spoof complaint letters to various companies. It's a straightforward - some may say uninspired, even lazy - set-up, but with it Bhoy creates a show of sharp commentary about the way we live now that rings true with his audience. Yes, marketing departments, banks and global companies are easy targets, but Bhoy is a master of the misdirect: just when a joke appears to be going somewhere predictable, he steers it somewhere else entirely. He also loves a delayed punchline, a sign of a comic with spot-on timing.

Bhoy shows what a marvellous physical comic he is

The letters - which of course he never sends - are winningly worded rants about things such as the outrageous price of printer ink, bank charges, call centres and the ridiculous claims made for beauty products, among others. His lampooning of Molton Brown's incomprehensible descriptions of their candle scents (does “like opening a country gate” mean anything to you?) and Gillette's one-upmanship of its own “ultimate in razors” products are a joy. Along the way he punctuates the letter-reading with anecdotes that have a ring of truth in them - about a friend's mistaken purchase of an EasyJet priority boarding pass, or the time he wrote to Jim'll Fix It for him and his sister. He didn't get a reply, for which they are suitably grateful...

Despite sitting down to read his letters, Bhoy shows what a marvellous physical comic he is as he moves around the stage to act out various sections, including the show's highlight, his recreation of a girls' night out, from sober but excitable beginnings to drink-fuelled excess. Each member of the gang - the wannabe leader, the one who gets left behind as they pile into a taxi for laters - is acutely but affectionately observed.

Bhoy is certainly not cutting-edge, but he knows how to please an audience with a slick, well-honed 75 minutes that reveals very little of who he is behind the easygoing stage presence. His real name is Danni Chaudhry - he has an Indian father and a Scottish mother, an interesting combo, you may think – but he doesn't mine his background for his comedy. One day, I rather hope he does.

• Danny Bhoy at Bloomsbury Theatre until 12 October, then touring until 2 November