Dawn French – 30 Million Minutes (Vaudeville Theatre)

If winter's chill and gloom is getting you down, you could do worse than settle in to watch Dawn French: this is a warm-hearted, generous-spirited show, rich in nostalgic memories, knock-your-socks-off jokes and poignant little moments of honesty. After 120 minutes, 30 Million Minutes packs you off into the dark night with the kind of glow usually associated with a Ready Brek advert.

Not that every minute is golden, by any means. Part spoken memoir, part stand-up comedy, this one-woman show is directed by theatre maestro Michael Grandage; in the programme notes he suggests it was the first half that took the most work – as she went on, French found her storytelling voice. In honesty, this uphill climb is still evident: the first half may provoke chuckles and coos of reminiscence from the crowd, as French goes misty-eyed over childhood telly and corner shop sweets, ambitions to be a prima ballerina and crushes on Eric Morecambe, but such recollections can verge on banal. Her delivery seems a bit sing-song and patronising; you can hear the scripted line, rather than the improvised cut and dash you expect of a comedian.

But whenever you might be tempted to clock watch – and there's often a giant digital one projected behind her, reflecting the show's theme of the passage of time; those 30 million minutes are the break-down of her 58 years – French pulls out a gag that has you properly hooting. Admittedly, punchlines are often just photographs of her or her relatives – but French's set-ups make these more entertaining than finding a long lost box of snaps of your own relatives looking daft.

The show's emphasis is very much on family: there's little on her career, comedy, or celebrity. Instead we see the joys – and the heartaches – of being a daughter, a wife, a mother. Of growing up, and trying to figure out just how to be all those things. Alongside gentle humour – and some eye-watering overshare (she mimes picking broken glass of her mother's vagina; this really happened) – there are moments when French's carefully plotted show is very touching. Her father's suicide, her inability to conceive and her hysterectomy, and the racism that met her marriage to Lenny Henry are all explored, rather than exposed, with real grace.

There are also stand-up style themes for French to riff on – most notably, the human body and what marvellous engine for enjoying life it is. She talks us through everything she likes and dislikes about her body, at some length, with candid self-deprecation. French reveals her nicknames for her attention-seeking breasts – Ant and Dec – and her "beardy" lady garden – Mumford and Sons – before suggesting she has the "legs of a short, fat, elderly man".

But the take-away message is one of resolute, beaming body positivity. Her hands maybe stumpy, she says, but they're useful – not least for putting two fingers up to all the bitchy commentators who've ever fat shamed her. The sight of French gyrating round the stage and groping her own resplendent arse to "Can't Touch This" is sure to make you feel like cheering.

Dawn French – 30 Million Minutes runs at the Vaudeville until 5 December.