What if there is no toilet? Well, you needn’t worry. In Felicity Ward’s gregarious and unashamedly honest set, there is one right onstage. And if you need to go, you can just go (though preferably not actually on the stage), just one of the many ways Felicity Ward makes us feel welcome, whether you’re a man, a woman, or just completely batshit crazy.
She had us rolling around with laughter, singing (god help us), but most importantly, talking.
The audience is packed and buzzing. Ward launches right in bouncing jokes around like we’re old pals, making us feel right at home. She tells us about her boyfriend, her sister and her penchant for teeny-weeny bunnies (awww!) before the subject matter takes a slightly more serious turn.
Mental health. How clinical and terrifying does that sound? It certainly doesn’t sound like something we want to joke about. In fact, you can almost hear the collective sharp intake of breath from the audience as soon as Ward mentions it, but luckily her natural warmth and confidence allows us to relax and give laughing about it a go.
Through the character of Beryl, Ward discusses her own experiences with mental health issues in a frank and unflinchingly honest way. She’s self-deprecating, inspiring, silly – our best and most funny friend who we turn to when everything seems to be fucking up.
And that is what makes her set so utterly brilliant. By opening up the conversation on mental health, breaking down supposed taboos, and allowing us to have a good old laugh at it, Ward has achieved something really special: hilariously funny but with a serious and important intention.
Ward’s jokes are well-timed, impressively well-observed and received with delight from an enthusiastic audience. She had us rolling around with laughter, singing (god help us), but most importantly, talking.
