It was a beautiful but muggy night and it gave us a chance for quality, one on one time without the constant interruption of kids. So we used the time wisely and argued about where to park and which direction to take. We arrived a few minutes (fashionably) late to the Tent of the Unpronounceable Name, trod on some toes to get to our seats and settled in for the show.
First up was Chris Martin. No, not of Coldplay fame, a comedian - though, naming your kid Apple is pretty funny. Do you know how hard it is to sulk at a comedy show? It's almost impossible. I was trying to be all cranky pants but Chris made me belly laugh in a matter of minutes.
Up next was the very shouty Canadian, John Hastings. He was my fave. My face was hurting from laughing so much as he seamlessly covered everything from thongs to religion to asshole French waiters. His banter and dark sense of humour won me over.
Closing the show was Carl Donnelly. He didn't really do it for me. He told one really long story in which he kept swapping between whether it was his story or his mate's, and had no punchline at the end. The lack of punchline was the punchline and I'm all "No. That ain't no punchline, dude, bring back the Canadian guy".
It was a great show, for a good two thirds of it at least (others were laughing at the third guy, so must have just been my sense of humour?) and I'd easily recommend it to people who like observational humour but don't want to pay a fortune. Tickets on sale here for around $25 if you're interested.
Afterwards, we cruised The Pleasure Garden (aka Russell Square in drag), drank Mojitos, took pictures of fantastically quirky things like the outdoor library and came to the realization that we are not hipster enough for Fringe.
Even MG's impressive beard and thick glasses couldn't stand up to the flannel clad, spacer-eared, skinny jeaned, tattooed folk with no concept of bed time.
Walking back to the car at a 8:45pm because it was almost bed time, a gorgeous young woman handed us a brochure for more shows:
"I'd absolutely recommend the show starting at 10pm and the one at 11pm is..."
"OH, sweetheart! I'll be asleep by then!" I blurted out.
She looked confused at my interruption. Was it because I called her sweetheart? I don't think I've ever called someone I didn't know sweetheart before. Or maybe I had been giving off the aura of Hipster? Perhaps the pink hair threw her?
"Maybe if we can get a babysitter another night" MG chimed in.
She understood. She gave us the sweet, pitying look that youngens give to the older folk. I know it because I've given that same look before. The look that said "ugh children, whyyyyyyy?".
So I might not be hipster enough for Fringe World, but I've got pink hair and my kids think I'm fucking awesome. That'll do me just fine.
Are you a Fringe fan?