Lindsey Santoro: It Was Like That When I Got Here
Performer: Lindsey Santoro
Venue: CabVol 2 at Monkey Barrel Comedy
Date and time: Friday 22nd August, 12:05pm
Ticket price: £15.50
Reviewed by: Sarah Turnbull
Rating: ★★★★ 4/5
Lindsey Santoro’s new hour, It Was Like That When I Got Here, delivers exactly what her growing reputation promises: a riot of gleeful oversharing, filth with finesse and the sort of rolling, room-filling laughter that makes the walls feel closer. Fresh from an award-hoovering debut and a quickening list of TV and radio credits, she returns with her trademark Brummie bite and that unstoppable, infectious cackle – audible before the first punchline lands.
The premise is disarmingly simple: Lindsey hasn’t changed, won’t change and most of her problems are, by her own account, self-inflicted. That confession powers stories that swerve from the proudly bodily to the gloriously daft. Yes, there’s blue material aplenty, but she never leans on shock alone. She’s a natural storyteller who can take a grubby detail, make light of it and shape it into a joke.
Early on, a story about her stint on Celebrity Mastermind neatly sets the tone: she frames it as bowling with the sides up, then proceeds to gutter the ball with gusto. A running gag about her contraceptive coil “interfering with stuff” morphs into a surprisingly nimble set piece about tech, bodies and the indignities of modern life.
Beyond the filth, the hour’s most satisfying detours come from unlikely, even innocent sources. Santoro takes a deep dive into old-fashioned children’s stories and nursery rhymes, interrogating their mad logic with a mix of exasperation and wonder. It’s a smart contrast: the comedian who’s been merrily talking genitals suddenly auditing the bedtime canon for crimes against common sense. The bit lands because it’s rooted in her lived, no-nonsense perspective – the same lens she brings to a frank, funny segment on menopause.
She swears there’s no theme, but one sneaks in: we make our own chaos and then, with a shrug and a grin, pretend ‘it was like that when I got here’. The tangents loop back, throwaway lines turn into punchlines and the hour falls into a shape that feels both accidental and deliberate. Now and then, a detour lingers a touch too long, but her pace and charm pull it back before you’ve even clocked it.
Her style won’t be for everyone: it’s brash, bold and no-holds-barred, with a fondness for graphic, below-the-belt detail. If you like comedy that charges headfirst at the line and then gleefully crosses it, you’re in for a treat.
The result is a rowdy, generous, unpretentious hour that confirms why Santoro has become a fixture on line-ups and shortlists. It’s not for delicate ears, but it is for anyone who enjoys the catharsis of a comic who tells the truth, then adds three ruder truths for luck. Expect cackling – hers ringing out as a constant drumbeat – pretty much the whole way through.
Big laughs, zero faff and premium cackling.
★★★★
