Dylan Moran

The atmosphere was unmistakably Fringe. Employed troubadour singers engaging with the awaiting crowd. A packed foyer, an even more packed Thebby Theatre with seats so closely placed together I should have had a discount from sitting next to a fat bastard. I didn't actually realise how good the seats were which Wazza was able to obtain. Front row. I can't say I was excited when I suddenly realised we would be the prime targets for any form of audience participation, and being a zombie movie-goer I didn't think I'd be up for it. Luckily there were enough knobs in the audience to pique Moran's interest/disgust so we went under the radar. I did have a weird moment of direct eye contact, when I looked into those glazed eyes and had a connection. It was cool.

He didn't disappoint. His jokes were spot on, his descriptions as random as ever. It did strike me how truly, 100% pissed he was. I thought he was going to drop the bundle a couple of times, when he started to tell jokes he'd already done, or ramble over familiar territory then suddenly realise and say something obtuse. There was a distinct tone seeing him live, something very personal about his observations and social musings. It was almost derision, beyond humour. Then again, as the audience you're forced to not take it so seriously, if only it wasn't so thinly veiled. He had me laughing, but not as much as I thought he would. Maybe it's cos I don't drink anymore. Could be that I was exhausted. Overall, the giddy sensation I had when I walked back out onto Henley Beach Road was not from laughing too hard, more from the lack of oxygen in the place.

Happy to have been a part of it all. Long live Bernard.