Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

Maybe it’s because we’re still in the early days of the Fringe, but Tamsyn Kelly takes a while to hit her stride in this show. She starts in a cynical deadpan, before relaxing into a warmer persona more befitting her claim to be quite optimistic in life. ‘Things are going well for me,’ she says, thanks to some well-performing internet content.

Subject-wise, too, the first few minutes are not too promising, covering such over-familiar tropes as having a ‘lesbian haircut’ – so people assume she’s very good at DIY – and having ADHD. The joke that the diagnosis is ubiquitous is, itself, now ubiquitous.

This eases into a catch-up about her personal life, having recently moved from Glasgow to London to pursue her dreams with her partner, another comedian (Stuart McPherson), with a few observations about their life together – such as now having too much respect for him to indulge in dirty talk.

With two non-famous comedians under the same roof, poverty is a way of life. But then poverty’s always been a way of life for Kelly – her parents were homeless when she was born, and after they moved into council housing near Land’s End, her childhood pet was a ‘second-hand’ rat acquired from a deeply weird woman, related in a memorable anecdote here.

Tap-dancing for the rodent (don’t ask) encouraged a love of performance and set young Kelly on a course for drama school, where she was a definite outsider alongside her privileged classmates, opening her eyes to the class divide. She was the only one working her way through the course, earning a crust cold-calling for a charity.

After sharing a few anecdotes about performing to disinterested pensioners at care homes, she says she was saved by stand-up – attracted by its immediacy, and crucially low barrier to entry. Yet although she picked up paid gigs relatively quickly, finances have always remained precarious, and she ponders how she can possibly keep affording to do the job she loves, coming up with a solution she’s not entirely happy about.

Needless to say, all of her experiences speak to a wider crisis across the arts, and she’s explicit about how the working classes are being squeezed out by those with means or connections. And, yes, Jack Whitehall does get a mention. 

While it might be low down the list of wider national priorities, it’s a significant issue in the sector  – and if you can’t talk about it at the Edinburgh Fringe, where can you? 

And as she makes the issue personal, via her disarmingly open approach, Kelly maintains a solid joke rate, although at this early show, there were still a few too many duds that she promised not to repeat, as well as a noticeable (but undeserved) lack of confidence in some of her material.

Review date: 7 Aug 2026
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Monkey Barrel Comedy (Cabaret Voltaire)