Works in Progress: Humans at Machynlleth Comedy Festival
- 1 day ago
- 4 min read
You might be surprised to discover (!) after spending the weekend camping at Machynlleth Comedy Festival I’ve come home thinking about humans.
What a glorious 3 days. It felt like the coming together of a family. A temporary little village. A collective downing of tools.
There was something beautifully simple about it all.
Being there reconnected me with a freer part of myself. The barefoot, communal, colourful, slightly feral hippie part that just wants to live in a field with people and share food and stories.
I felt really at home.
And despite sleeping on a blow-up bed that faced down a slight hill each night, with a cold nose, a chorus of birds, sheep and distant snoring echoing around me I had the best three nights of sleep I’ve had in a very long time (my watch told me so!)
And it made me wonder whether what rests us isn’t always comfort.
Maybe it’s connection.
Belonging.
Safety.
Permission to stop holding everything so tightly for a while.
One of the things that stayed with me most over the weekend was witnessing the boys (Pip 6 & Fox 8 now) experiencing the freedom and the awe of the acts.
There’s this gorgeous huge playground in Machynlleth with railings around it surrounded by these beautiful tree areas where children can disappear off into worlds of imagination. And the boys would just… go.
They’d make friends instantly. Entire worlds created over climbing frames, sticks and icecream. They would fall in love over and over again with people for an hour at a time.
Adults forget how to do that.
We sit near each other all the time without really meeting.
Meanwhile children are like:
“You seem nice. Let’s build a kingdom.”
And then there was the comedy itself.
Watching the boys leaning forward in their chairs desperate to be picked to go on stage. Arms raised. Bums lifted slightly off seats with hope. Completely enthralled. Drawn in fully in the way children allow themselves to be.
The disappointment when they weren’t chosen.
The determination the next time.
The awe at people’s skill and imagination.
And underneath all the laughter, there was something else too.
Courage.
The first act a friend and I saw was Flo & Joan.
We were last in as we hadn't quite got our bearings yet, ending up right at the back of the hall and in front of us was this sea of people wholeheartedly willing them on.
That’s the thing I keep thinking about - people willing each other on.
And throughout the show they’d trip over lines or lose their place or have to glance at prompts, and it just… didn’t matter.
In fact, it made the whole thing better.
Because they showed up in all their messy glory and completely owned their imperfections.
What a way to begin the festival.
A lot of the shows we watched were works in progress. People testing ideas in real time. Some bits soaring, some bits wobbling.
I adored how the audience sat there, open-hearted, almost whispering: "we're here to support the process too".
Not just consume.
There was something deeply human about that.
Watching people be unfinished publicly.
Watching audiences meet that with generosity instead of judgement.
And it made me think about how uncomfortable most of us are with being unfinished in our own lives. How quickly we hide the messy drafts of ourselves away.
But humans are works in progress.
Always.
The boys absolutely adored Darryl Carrington and his show “Out of the Box”. Their mouths were hanging open for most of his show. Completely enthralled. The fact he did so much without speaking completely blew their minds.
Then there was Spencer Jones, where we sat front row while the boys absolutely lapped up his chaos and brilliance. What I loved most was how beautifully he welcomed their noise and excitement into the room.
Pip wouldn't let him finish the show, screaming enthusiastically: “But what about the goggles?!”. It was silly and imperfectly perfect.
We absolutely committed to the weekend, there are so many artists to mention that we loved (see the bottom for everyone!).
One of the things people often misunderstand about my work...
is that they think I’m only interested in the crying stuff. The ragey stuff. But what I’ve learnt over and over again is that pure joy lives when you allow the rest of it, the mess of yourself as a human.
Not laughing it off "joy". Not pretending everything’s fine. Not bypassing.
I mean the kind of joy where you honk with laughter until you cry (or wee) a bit. The kind where your shoulders drop. Where your body softens. Where you feel alive again.
This weekend had all of it.
Laughter.
Grief.
Cuddles.
Connection.
Good chats.
A minor strop because I dropped my coffee in the shop.
Rain and sunshine.
Conversations with strangers.
Children becoming braver by the hour.
And kindness.
So much kindness.
Nobody shoving. Nobody posturing. Just people who seemed genuinely open to being moved, entertained, surprised and connected.
It didn’t feel like a place people came to get wasted and disappear from themselves.
It felt like a place people came to reconnect.
And honestly, I think that’s what people are hungry for right now.
Relief.
Humanity.
Permission.
Belonging.
Just spaces where people can come back to themselves and each other a bit.
Huge love to the artists who filled our weekend with imagination, laughter, chaos and brilliance:
Flo & Joan, Darryl Carrington, Spencer Jones, James Acaster, 3 Bean Salad, Bridget Christie, Marcel Lucont, Ian Smith, Pierre Novellie and Paul Sinha.
Machynlleth Comedy Festival, we'll be back next year for sure, see you there?
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