Tess has sworn she will never again let me book tickets for comedy festival shows. To be fair, she has good reason.
Monday night was Danny Bhoy — and I managed to purchase tickets to seats in the fourth row from the front. I know what you're thinking, because it's the first argument I tried in attempting to wipe the disapproving I KEEL YOU NOW look off Tessa's face: Danny Bhoy's not particularly mean to his audience, there's nothing to worry about. Sure. Nothing except the plethora of cameras filming the show. The plethora of cameras trained on Tess and I for, oh, I don't know, the duration of the show.
Last night was Dylan Moran. No cameras this time, but Moran is a bit snarkier when it comes to picking on his audience. And where were we? Oh yes, that's right. Third row from the front, centre stage. Safe to say we spent the majority of the show slunk down in our seats, flinching at sudden movements. Luckily, we escaped unscathed, I think largely due to the fact that there were children directly in front of us. Thank all that's holy for the children.1
- and that's not a phrase you'll hear me utter very often [↩]