People really like them

Peepolykus (say it slowly) insist that their version of The Hound Of The Baskervilles is extremely faithful to Arthur Conan Doyle's original.

This is difficult, since Javier Marzan, the actor playing Holmes, has a Spanish accent thicker than Fawlty Towers's Manuel; there are only three actors in the company, so they play all the parts in a frenetic blur of changing costumes and false beards; and most of all, Peepolykus have never done anything straight in their life.

'Honestly, I think our version is more faithful than the film,' says John Nicholson, unconvincingly. 'Although it's true the poster for the show has the word "hilarious" plastered all over it, which rather gives the game away.'

Peepolykus are not your average theatre company. Their shows tend to be a curious mix of the ridiculous and the sublime. Established ten years ago by Nicholson, the trio has built up a reputation for pleasingly silly pieces bearing nonsensical names such as I Am A Coffee and Let The Donkey Go!, neither of which, incidentally, had anything to do with coffee or donkeys.

Like Marzan, David Sant (who is temporarily on leave, replaced for the time being by the English actor Jason Thorpe) is Spanish and both draw heavily on clowning traditions; Nicholson admits that their biggest influence is the visual slapstick of the Marx Brothers and Laurel and Hardy.

Equally firmly rooted in improv, they apply these influences to the most unlikely source material - 1998's Horses For Courses, for instance, was loosely inspired by the plays of Chekhov, albeit as performed by a Cossack-dancing Siberian theatre troupe.

'Holmes and Watson are a great vehicle for clowning,' points out Marzan in an accent so delightfully rich, it's not surprising many people have assumed it's actually fake. 'Holmes is your ultimate eccentric. Watson is your classic Englishman. Together they are the perfect double act.'

The actors might convey the impression that making theatre is really just an excuse for fooling about (previous shows have been built around packets of Rich Tea biscuits and time-travelling postmen) but they are deadly serious about the subject of laughter.

Doyle's story of a bloodthirsty hound, familial curse and desolate moors helps them in this respect, since the plot itself hinges on a firm sense of the preposterous. 'The story requires a big leap of faith and logic,' agrees Thorpe.

'On one level, it really doesn't take itself seriously. But you have to be careful because you can go too far with that idea and end up cheating an audience. Yet there are moments that require some massive special effects that we obviously can't achieve because we don't have any money. So the show is really about us being quite inept. By which I don't mean that it's rubbish, but that we are trying our best to do something but not quite managing.'