Last time I saw Fern Brady perform, I was livid.
I’d just paid £6 for a Mr Whippy – with a flake – at the Bristol Comedy Garden and was feeling suffused with rage at the absurd con that is food stalls at events where attendees can’t leave and come back in. And at there being only one female headliner across nine shows over four days. This time, I was my usual lower level of livid, thanks to a huge and reasonably priced almond croissant from East Bristol Bakery in Wapping Wharf. (Get their excellent olive and rosemary focaccia too for a well-balanced meal.)
The Bristol Old Vic is unfortunately not an ideal stand-up venue; for all its beauty, the seating at the top is so steep it doesn’t lend itself to solo performances with minimal staging, which is all comedians usually have. But despite it feeling like Brady and her support, Alison Spittle, were at the bottom of a very deep pond nearby, their combined charm carried the show nonetheless. I’d actually seen a lot of Spittle’s set before when she supported Kieran Hodgson’s ‘Big in Scotland,’ tour, but her material remained brilliant. It takes confidence to tell an extended anecdote about having the coil inserted – and later removed – at 4pm on a Sunday to a relatively sober audience, but the reaction was merry and supportive. I especially enjoyed her description of the trio of noises – ‘pop, crackle and squeak’ – during the procedure as ‘the rice krispie men of the apocalypse.’
Fern Brady comes on after the break to pounding music and rapturous applause. She’s experienced considerable success in the past couple of years, releasing an acclaimed, award-winning book, Strong Female Character about being diagnosed as autistic in her 30s, and releasing a Netflix special, Autistic Bikini Queen. I’ve seen stand-ups who struggle with squaring their new lives with their comedic personas after achieving recognition, but Brady’s knowing wit and cynicism carry us through her anecdotes, however unrelatable being – unsuccessfully – tapped for Strictly or appearing on celebrity Bake Off might be. She paints herself as a fish out of water, both due to her autism and mixed feelings about her increased exposure, especially as she gets older; anecdotes about meeting her American agents and panicking when meeting Prue Leith are relatably excruciating, and interesting to hear about through the lens of her neurodivergence.
She’s enjoyably lavish with her references to her peers, but without reverence, describing feeling pressured into having Botox after appearing on TV more, particularly with Jimmy Carr, ‘who’s had about three facelifts by now.’ Having had some, she feels self-conscious about her overly smooth ‘sex-doll forehead’ and wary of having so much in her eyebrows that she ‘falls over backwards looking at a sunset.’ She tells us about discussing this with Miriam Margolyes – who in private is apparently identical to how she is in public – and the latter’s fury that Brady would even consider altering her face. Brady’s heavy Scottish accent makes these more emotive and surreal bits all the funnier, especially when sandwiched with her impression of Margolyes’.
The overall tone is relatively light, and there are intriguing references to her non-existent relationship with her mum and being bullied in school which it would be interesting to hear more about. The show’s best moments are when Brady leans into her weirder instincts, such as an extended anecdote about taking MDMA with her brother and Phil Wang, and the resulting encounters with a Balinese cat and giant floating Courtney Love . She’s got a knack for an observational turn of phrase, such as noting that many of her fans are or give the vibe of female rat-owners; my favourite was her description of her thick corneas and curled toes, leading to a suspicion that she’s really meant to be ‘scuttling up the side of a rock, scraping off molluscs.’
It was interesting seeing the show having seen her preparing for the tour at the Bristol Comedy Garden earlier in the summer; in a full set, there’s more room for whimsy and asides, and her anecdotes and observations flow smoothly from one to another. Ultimately, the general theme is quite elastic, and I think it would benefit from leaning occasionally more into the stranger and sadder moments. But the affection the audience have for Brady is obvious – even before she tells us she picked Bristol over Scotland to record her Netflix special in – and she keeps us in the palm of her hand throughout with the stage presence and assurance of a pro. She does the quickest exit I’ve ever seen; finishing her material, thanking us and Spittle, and leaving the stage so suddenly it’s almost as she was never there.
Fern Brady is touring ‘I Gave You Milk to Drink,’ across the country until November. Allison Spittle is working on a new show with limited dates.