Kelly Rickard isn’t just funny. This Newcastle/Welsh hybrid is a whirling dervish of talent. The tone is set early with an absolute banger: a sharply furious routine about Tory MPs clapping for the NHS with a sexually smart barb that has the audience howling. From there, it’s all brilliance.

The premise is that she’s in her early 40s, married with two kids. But this is no soft mum-com or pity party. Rickard has a wicked streak. Her story about her husband booking a holiday for their anniversary — with his mates — becomes a pitch-perfect bit about duty-free panic buys. It’s relatable, ridiculous, and painfully true. Elsewhere, she’s unpacking modern womanhood like a suitcase about to burst: straight men who don’t fancy funny women, a Netflix category for “men do stuff,” and the guilty pleasure of going to work just for peace from the kids. It feels like chatting with your funniest pal in the pub — sharp, warm, and spiked with killer punchlines. Add in the true meaning of Do They Know It’s Christmas?, and you’ve got a comedy masterclass.

And then there’s the music. Rickard can really sing, and she proves it with original tracks — Posh Girls alone is worth the ticket price. She switches effortlessly from pipes to punchlines, mixing heartfelt stories of how pregnancy reshaped her identity and how misogyny still stalks the arts with a barrage of perfectly aimed barbs. The final payoff is emotional without being schmaltzy, and yes, she’s got a contender for Joke of the Fringe. You’ll know it when you hear it.

Rickard isn’t just killing it up there — as the show title suggests, she’s soaring. Funny, fearless, gloriously loose, the crowd adored her. The Fringe can be brutal for independents, but she makes it look easy. Grab a ticket while you can.