Bridget Christie: Housewife Surrealist

Right from the off, it's clear Bridget Christie isn't worried about looking like an idiot. This is generally what happens when one bounces onto the stage dressed in papal regalia and proceeds to do a Dalek impression with a plunger. What follows is a very rough-around-the-edges set permeated by eye rolls, girlish giggles and her trademark grin. It's clear, and made explicit by Christie, that this isn't going to be the most polished of shows.

"I'm probably just going to say things as they come into my head," she grins apologetically, rolling her eyes and fiddling with the microphone stand for a moment before launching into a rambling hour that doesn't quite hit the mark. An audience participation piece is a nice concept, but falls flat due to lack of preparation and, although chaos is her thing, some of the gags feel more than a little hurried.

She takes us through her Catholic upbringing, peppering hit-and-miss anecdotes with a hefty dose of irony, although unfortunately some of these tales do tend to peter out. Perhaps it's nerves, though—there are flashes of ingenuity when she visibly relaxes, relying less on affectation and more on solid material. Recalling a brush with gang members in New York, introducing the audience to some of her favourite games and a delightfully silly piece on Jesus's ascension reveal the potential Christie could have with a bit more rehearsal and a bit less mania.