MY heart is pumping as I drive along St Kilda Road. I’m sweating from rushing to get out the door on time. I had considered spraying on perfume before I left the house, but I thought it might arouse suspicion when my husband got home.
As I park and lock the car, I send him a text message: “I’m sitting with the kids and they’re nearly asleep so I can’t talk. I’ll speak to you after the show. Have fun!”
He replies straight away (”I will, you too!”) and I smile to myself – I’ve gotten away with it, so far.
And off I go to the Comedy Theatre to covertly watch his Melbourne International Comedy Festival show.
The Herald Sun asked me to review my husband’s show (Dave Hughes: Pointless) after I wrote an article about our married life two weeks ago.
Doing it in secret is the only option, for two reasons. First, I know he doesn’t need the stress of a review (even from a biased spouse) on opening night.
And second, I am pretty sure he censors himself when he knows I’m there.
I manage to get a great carpark, unfortunately near the wrong theatre (note: the Comedy Theatre is on Exhibition not Collins St) and have to run through the city.
I slide into my seat just as he comes out on stage, but I’m up in the dress circle so there’s no way he can spot me. I settle back, send positive vibes, and do the only thing I can ever really do to help at this point – I make sure I laugh loudly.
I would estimate I see Dave do live stand-up about six times a year, most recently at the Adelaide Fringe Festival last month.
Even though the jokes are sometimes repeated, he mucks around with the audience so much that the show itself is always different.