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Another visit to the Cavendish Arms, another cracking night out in Sunny Stockwell. For an area where the phrase ‘night time economy’ used to be a euphemism for pulling a p****d Aussie bird in the truly squalid environs of The Swan, SW8 has finally got a pub to be proud of.

The Cavendish Arms looms dangerously close to the Battersea boundary, a location that no one really wants to be in. But host and hostess Dave and Shirley, have somehow managed to shake off the previous pints of lager top and double top on the darts board image.

The Cavendish is now proudly reborn, boasting a ballroom decadence, and a reputation that is slowly starting to help rediscover the long lost artistic community that once resided within Sunny Stockwell.

The monthly Thursday night cabaret sessions are quick becoming essential evening entertainment around these parts. Word of mouth has attracted an array of performers. No door charge helps; the only proviso is that performers bring along some booze-drinking buddies.

There was a party feel at the Cavendish this month. Two years since the backroom to ballroom transformation, and the fine landlady’s birthday to boot. Cheers – I’ll raise a glass or five to that.

The running order for the evening was something of a Cavendish Arm’s Greatest Hits. The finest musicians, comedians, and strippers burlesque artists that have been discovered on the ballroom stage over the past two years, were all invited along to do their turn.

The comedy slots were extended from the Virgin Night five-minute slot to something more substantial. This allowed the acts more time to develop their routines, as well as showing how their craft and interaction has been allowed the space to develop on the Cavendish stage.

But the find of the evening was Josie Lloyd, an incredibly confident, yet somewhat understated young lady, whose craft involves making hypnotic melodies out of an African kora. I can’t see Josie being play listed on Capital FM sometime soon, but the combination of intricate harp chord changes, and a voice that sounds in constant pain, is daytime radio’s loss.

This was a tough gig for Josie, along with her guitar and percussion backing musicians. The Cavendish crowd had been pumped up with some adult rated comedy, not to mention the stripper’s burlesque artists.

And then along comes a musician whose act will only work well within a silent environment. Watching the first few notes being plucked out of her kora, the ballroom floor stopped in its tracks, as her vocal range somehow matched that of her amazing instrument.

There’s a general rule of thumb that you should never cover a Beatles track. Hell, even Paul McCartney should never attempt a Beatles cover. But the reinterpretation, and pure pain of For No One drew a tear. Simply delightful.

But anyway, back to the stripper’s burlesque artists. I just don’t get the genre. It’s strippers for Guardian readers, all kitsch tease without any sense of danger, let alone eroticism. It gave me the urge to return home and download some gonzo porn to help release all that mild titillation.

I personally blame Time Out, which has championed the scene over the past eighteen months. Ah, so there’s another reason why I feel justified in having recently cancelled my weekly subscription.

In the absence of any homoerotic arousement, I was intrigued by what type of cabaret act the two overtly camp queens lurking by the side of the stage would entertain us with later in the evening. The first fella had a magnificent mohican, so proud in length, that it required the chap to perform a limbo dance just to manoeuvre beneath the ballroom door.

Queen #2 was kitted out as a biker bondage boy, who wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Frankie video. Much disappointment then to find that their ‘act’ was simply to lurk by the stage, and not a lot else. All that effort. But then I guess the act of just looking the part is what it’s all about.

Almost three hours later, and the party came to a close. Once again, my only mild criticism of the Cavendish is the lack of bar area in the ballroom. I would happily have doubled my booze intake for the evening, if it didn’t involve disturbing the stripper’s burlesque artists as they wobbled their mammary glands across half of SW8.

A finale from a Tori Amos style pianist with a sense of humour was another highlight. I can’t think that there’s much competition in writing a song that starts off as a social comment on the role of social media in shaping the musical landscape, and then concludes with the observation that crack whores in Detroit might just like music as well; but not as much as they like crack.

You see that’s the Sunny Stockwell spirit that seems to be once again finding its feet, all centred around the Cavendish Arms. There’s a real sense of community down there, with friends of friends of friends all being introduced, and then sharing and refining their artistic talents together.

That’s how *shhhhh* scenes are built up. There’s a very definite sense of a burgeoning Sunny Stockwell scene springing up right now, with the Cavendish Arms as its epicentre.

With the Canton Arms and the Royal Albert both shutting their doors in recent months, it is something of a rallying call to see the Cavendish Arms not only surviving in these uncertain times, but also thriving. You’ve got to offer something more than just booze, even if that does involve strippers burlesque artists.

Another midweek comedy slot at The Cavendish Arms, and another stand up performance from my laugh-a-minute mate @comedybeard. Mr Beard is becoming something of a residency at the Sunny Stockwell boozer, although technically I don’t think he still qualifies for the Comedy Virgin tag (or even virgin, for that matter.)

It takes a lot to get me away from the wine cellar on a midweek evening. Tuesday night isn’t the most kicking of nights around SW8, depending what constitutes a good kicking of course. But blimey – the Cav Arms along Hartington Road pulled in a crowd that must have competed in size with the queues at the nearby Costcutter (local heads up: that’s a rather large queue.)

The booking policy of an open mic – as long as you bring along a friend – fits the splendid ballroom style venue (seriously) perfectly. As previous, a lottery running order delivers each virgin to the stage for his or her five minutes of fun.

No one is going to die on stage (omits obvious Stockwell joke) with the crowd on the right side of polite for any unforgiving acts. I wasn’t alone in wanting to shout down the homophobe with his side-splitting tales of campness in the army (think Bruno without the irony.) But with only five minutes of the moronic lines to suffer, I sat on my hands and gave a slow handclap, once the fool had finished.

@comedybeard was drawn on to the stage at an early hour. He built his performance up with another powerful showing, feeling his way around the audience and deciding which direction to take the act. I’m no observer of observational comedians, but it seems to be a balancing act between material and confidence. Mr Beard has come a long way in a short space of time, and he left the stage with his head held high.

Some of the other acts were of an extremely high standard. Word perfect, and paced perfectly for the five-minute time slot. The monologue about drying wet washing whilst out sleep walking with tennis playing prostitutes and owls certainly got my hands out from under my arse.

Next stop for @comedybeard is Edinburgh and the Fringe (um, round about now as I type.) I hope his Stockwell residency has served Mr Beard well for the seriously funny action up at the festival with the big boys.

Comedy Virgins could do a lot worse than a de-flowering at The Cavendish Arms every Tuesday night in Sunny Stockwell. Bring your own friends, but please forget the homophobe humour.