“You judge a comedian before she even reaches the mic,” Sarah Callaghan informs us as she steps on stage at the Fringe Bar. Such an observation signals a seasoned performer. After eight years on stage, and with a successful tour of Australia behind her, Callaghan’s here to offer us the debut of her new show.

“She’s not English; she’s from London,” comments my companion, who spent many years in that capital city. Indeed, Callaghan’s frequent expletives and “in’t it”s have ‘London tough girl’ stamped all over them.

“How much I love you will depend on how much you laugh” is the challenge she sets up. And we do – but often it’s thoughtful laughter. Her theme is where you belong – fitting in or feeling left out. Who’s your gang?

She has a confession to make.  She’s not only into gangs – she’s into (gasp) poetry. And we get to hear some. It’s rap in rhythm, and as cheerfully raw as her patter. “Your arse must get sick of what comes out of your mouth,” “a fat white Mowgli from The Jungle Book” and “a knot in her hair a sailor would be proud of” are examples.

Callaghan’s gritty realism may not be to everyone’s taste. She pulls no punches:  poverty, gender and Trump all get a going over. The MeToo campaign gets a look in too. Refreshingly, Callaghan’s wry about this, and her best line comes out of it. 

Ironically, despite her compelling insistence on finding or being in the right gang, we get the impression Callaghan feels on her own. She wouldn’t mind an audience of one, she assures us. “Then we can have a conversation.” 

I think we’ve had one.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer