Alice Tovey on how stand-up brought her closer to her family

My dad went to jail. White collar charges. He served his time. He paid his debts. He wore a green jumpsuit that did nothing for his colour palette. Flash forward to now, and my folks have given me their blessing to share their stories all over the world. Do they regret that? Sometimes. 

Dad going away was a life-changing, tragic event. To which every comedian responded: ‘You’re so lucky. This is gonna make a great hour.’ Because every comedian is a content-hungry trauma piggy, snuffling at the trough of laughs. 

I always bring my whole self to my act. While I admire comics who are able to weave a convincing story about a ‘funny thing that happened on the way to the gig,’ my big ass dinner plate eyes and neurodiverse world view force me to be honestly, plainly myself on stage. 

Luckily, I have no problem sharing my life with the audience. You wanna hear about my IBS? Sure. How about the time I flashed an intersection and no one noticed because my boobs are too small? No worries. It’s fun and cathartic to cut open my stomach to show the audience my guts. Is this anything? Are these intestines relatable? Shout out to my audience; love you, intestinal girlies! Hope you enjoyed the laceration!

Of course, where this gets tricky is when I’m sharing stories that are not entirely my own. Because, like many comedians before me, I have a family. 

I am bravely one of three kids. Plus my two folks makes five. That’s right, she can count. We’re two players short of a netball team, and a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket. Every comedian will tell you that they have funny parents. But every other comedian is wrong. My mum is warm, witty, and a fierce lover of punny word play. My dad’s humour on the other hand is dark and dry as a dead dingo’s donger (to translate into the Queen’s English: parched as one’s late corgi’s todger). No one makes me laugh harder than these dummies.  

My family and I have always been close. I call my mum every day; because I am an eldest daughter, not some ungrateful little shit. But the process of writing my new show, Glass Houses brought us closer than I ever thought possible. 

It gave me the space to ask my parents about their love story, at a time when I was about to get married myself. Growing up, I took the security of having loving parents for granted. Yeah I know that you guys ‘love’  each other, but keep that shit to yourself. That’s disgusting. 

My dad going to jail did change their relationship, naturally. But not in the way you would think. It strengthened it, fortified it. It gave me a concrete example of what it means not just to love someone, but to like someone, to choose someone. It taught me that love, that parenthood, is not something that stagnates. And that I too need to choose how to love, and who to love, every day. Because having the opportunity to love someone isn’t something you should take for granted.   

My family unit is a beautiful collection of eccentric freaks. I love them with every part of me, from tip to taint. I feel honour bound to protect this treasure trove of sweet, weird people wherever I go. And sometimes, I have failed to do that.  

Mum and I did get into fights over the show. After the first time watching the show in Melbourne, we had a big yell and cry while walking the dogs around a creek (name a more Australian emotional breakdown. I’ll wait.) 

That’s been the most painful part of the process, because we don’t fight much. My goal was to uplift her with my stories, and I have to own that there have been times that I haven’t done that. I’m sorry, mum, that in the pursuit of comedy (the one true artform) I’ve hurt you. Our biggest disagreement stemmed from mum questioning why I was proud of this time in our lives. And I get that, it would be a weird thing to be ‘proud’ of. 

But for me, this show was never simply about pride. It was about ownership. About reclaiming a narrative, and sharing a world that not many people get to see. It was about accepting my father fully for who he is, warts and all. And for celebrating my mother for all she’s done, with her flawless, wartless skin. So yeah, it’s about pride, but about being proud of being their daughter. 

I made one rule very clear to my loved ones during the creation and touring of Glass Houses. That being if any member of my family was uncomfortable with me doing this show, at any stage of the process, I will pull the show. And that rule stands. I’ll pull the show tomorrow if I have to. No amount of ticket sales, reviews or free drinks is worth more to me than the safety and respect of my family. 

There have been moments of compromise in writing and touring this show. There are treasures that I will hold close to my chest forever, unable to share them with the audience. But it’s a compromise I’m happy to make, because my family continues to choose to love me. And the treasures they’ve let me share with the audience are oh so gorgeous.

• Alice Tovey’s Glass Houses is on at Underbelly Cowgate at 9.55pm during the Edinburgh Fringe.

Published: 7 Aug 2025