The Gilded Balloon is running a series of these mixed-bill nights up and down the country over the year, but this was the one I wanted to see most. When we arrived, the evening was warm and sunny. There was no queue outside the venue, just people sitting on the stone blocks at the perimeter of the square. We found an empty one and settled down to wait. It wasn't too busy. More people arrived, some craftily sitting on the steps outside the front door. Then, at 7 p.m., a security person came out of the bar entrance to tell us the door was open. Not the front door. The side door, the one shared with the bar.
We formed a disorderly queue and waited to get in. The girl behind me complained to her pal about how long it was taking. Then she mentioned needing to pick up her co-codamol from the chemist at 8.30 the next day, and my ears pricked up.
The friend replied, "Aye, you've no been weel for ages."
"Aye, uh know. See, yesterday, my throat wiz like broken glass, but that went away, and noo it's aw slimy." She coughed loudly. "Gawd, ah sound like I smoke sixty fags a day." She coughed again, thick and guttural. Almost chewy, you might say.
"You've no been right since you had that sick bug."
"Food poisoning," she corrected.
I whispered to my wife, "Let's not sit anywhere near them."
The queue took ages to move. Once we entered the building, we could see why. There were two queues: ours and the one from the bar. The security were being highly diligent in their bag searches. One located a gentleman's hip flask, which was set aside. Another refused to let a girl in with her metal water bottle, its contents decanted in a clear pint tumbler before she could have it back. The message: no fluids in the performance space unless purchased from the venue or you're not getting in.
We didn't have bags, so we were waved through after the ticket barcodes were scanned. Inside, half of the seats were already taken. Most of the bar queue must have gotten in first. No worries. We found two seats near the middle and settled in. Smoke hung in the air as if someone had earlier forgotten to switch off the smoke machine. Not so thick that you couldn't see the stage, but enough to make the view hazy.
I had no idea when the show would start, but when my wife asked, I suggested 8 p.m. She was fizzing. "You're telling me it isn't going to start till 8 o'clock? Why did we need to be here at 6.30?"
"Unreserved seating. Look how busy it is already. You don't want to end up with a crap seat with a restricted view."
She pulled that face that told me she couldn't see past the guy in front.
"Do you want to swap seats?" I asked.
"No. I'm fine. So long as you can see."
It turned out the show started at 7.30.
Jay Lafferty did a great job getting us warmed up in her role as compere, getting to know the crowd, explaining the format of the night and setting down the house rules.
The first act was Josie Long, fresh off the minibus from the South Side, where she now lives. Her voice was more croaky than usual, and she needed to refer to her notes occasionally, but she was still top-class, a mixture of passion and positivity and plenty of fun.
Next up was Sam Lake. I saw him support Ed Gamble, and he used a lot of the same material tonight. It killed even more this time. He ploughs the same catty tropes as other gay comedians, but his writing and delivery are sharp. It won't be long before he breaks through into the mainstream media.
After the break, local act Stephen Buchanan performed his set. I'd never seen him before. I felt he was the weakest act of the night, but only because the others were so good. His material was funny, but the others got bigger laughs.
Headliner Larry Dean was immense. Oozing oddball charisma, his material shone. It didn't even feel like a set. He was just plucking funny out of the air. I do realise everything about it was scripted, even down to his posture and facial expressions, but at the time, the big laughs rolled through the audience. I'm really looking forward to catching him again later in the year.
Jay rounded off the night with a story about the consequences of an inappropriate children's party gift and the subsequent parents' WhatsApp group chats. A hilarious tale in the telling, where the punchline wasn't the funniest bit.
We were all done by 10.30.
Having avoided the sixty-fags-a-day cough lady, I got my comeuppance when the bloke on my left spent half the night coughing into his shirt's right elbow. It should have been incinerated afterwards as a potential biohazard. I better not get ill before my holiday.
Ticket Price: £25 (plus fees) from TicketWeb.
