"It would definitely be considered a slur. And it isn't in the show notes."

A calm and professional discussion is happening in the Pleasance Courtyard. Right next to earwiggy old me. An earlier show used a word that the venue staff feel should be highlighted as offensive before the audience sits down. The Pleasance are taking content warnings very seriously this August. Every show room entrance has a white laminate where further small white laminated cards can be velcroed (sorry Editor I know I've swished up a fantasy word there) onto it, proclaiming anything that might offend us. "Strong Language." "Audience Participation." And... warm up the laminator... "Slur words."

Next... one of the venue staff has to get our attention and verbally repeat any of these warnings once we are seated and the doors are closed. Belt and braces! Then the act's walk on music begins giving anyone who may have second thoughts minimal chance to chat with their entourage about the possibility of an exit. As maybe a show with "strong language" wasn't the right choice for them.

The whispered, earnest debate continues..."Maybe the comedian doesn't realise the word is a slur, but it is."

The unknown comedian almost certainly realises the word's power; that's why they've no doubt chosen to use it. But it would be fair to say it is a dated word, as dated as a shellsuit in a 90s British sitcom, one that wouldn't shock an audience on the mainstream comedy circuit but probably should. The new signs and announcements seem less here to caution the audience but feel like the Pleasance making a concerted sop to their young venue employees. After the Jerry Sadowitz "cancelling" of last year where one generation had to find themselves working with a performer, content, and an audience, they struggled to recognise still existed. It must be terrible feeling your labour is somehow justifying what you see as hate speech in a public forum.

But I'm also not sure where the line in the sand is? Should the newer techs and door people who invariably are a bit callow in terms of the experience of live stand-up be dictating how the language used is framed? Is this a case of middle class values being imposed on what used to, until very recently, be a working class artform for working class people? Gentrification at the Pleasance? Never! And who wants to be the comedian with the 'Contains Light Homophobia' laminate on their door? Who is buying a ticket for that show? And who wants to play to them?

"No, we can't say what the slur is on the sign but we can inform anyone who does ask for further information about the content."

And maybe as much as the Pleasance is safeguarding their audiences and staff they are also doing some due diligence before a new controversy arises. There's bound to be one at some point this month and the backlash rarely takes into account context these days. Is the triggering word being said to shock or is there a reason it has been chosen over more progressive terms? Does the comedian who is using it have ownership of the slur? Is it a case that the word is coming out of the wrong type of comedian?

A new voice wearing a Pleasance lanyard chimes in "There was also a show earlier that had bestiality in it that my friends found random."

Err...

I'm interested to see what the positives are from this current action by the Pleasance and whether it catches on about town.

Luckily for me my safe space is watching an exciting new comedian brimming with authentic personality and who has something alternative to say.

"I'm aware this is a debut hour and I need to say who I am... I am this and I am this and I am this and...."

Louise Young's delivery style can move at a freefall, often under emphasised, pace. There were times I missed the comedic point of some of her anecdotes. Not that she isn't in control of her material, as other times she conned us, and the mild flakiness was a mask for a rug pull punchline. The whole hour has the thrust of being cornered in the supermarket by your sister's best mate from school who wants to catch you up on her last decade in a breathless, effusive purge. Young's persona is so charming and lived in you kinda don't mind being stuck there.

Feral is a show all about introducing various aspects of who Louise Young is. Half Turkish, half Geordie, former drama student lesbian, and that ain't even the tip of the iceberg. Her working class lifestyle gifts her confidence bridging bits about the Megabus, deadzone flatshares and an underfunded NHS that was her only option for her mental health issues. Her frank but accessible stories about being sectioned, and the woeful lack of provision to prevent or rehabilitate those who suffer mental health crises, rings true, yet remains unpreachy. Leans away from tragedy and finds laughs. Even at her lowest ebbs, Young seems to be enjoying herself.

Feral, interestingly, never repurposes Young's past manic bad behaviour as the fuel of her stories. I get the feeling there'll be a sequel show a few years down the line once she is a more bullet proof longform comedian. One where she fills in the blanks, where she re-explores the dark mirror moments of this biographical show. There's a certain degree of trauma and criminality that is brushed over here that a more seasoned comic would glue onto. Well done her for knowing she isn't quite there yet and once she builds up her audience they'll want to hold her hand through the bleaker, the rawer and the less relatable stuff, I'd wager. She even teases us by ending our show on a mention of just how feral her life got with a very spectacular sounding aside. I'm booking my ticket to find out what happened in those woods.

Jodie Mitchell's Becoming John Travulva is a late night hot ticket. A drag king show that makes way for personal and politicised comedy. Being one of the first QR holders through the door for such a long line show I thought I'd be brave and sit down the front. Yet near to doors, it looked like I was going to be the only little dickhead in the front two rows. Reader, I bottled it. I dashed back into the safety of a spare seat. And then a bunch of last minuters sauntered in leaving me to hide with my jelly spine.

The John Travulva sections of the packed hour are full of swagger and style. Man earns his whoops whenever the music is pumping and the dry ice is puffing. The humour is delivered in a staccato gruff Scottish voice. Now at this measured gait I was quite often ahead of the punchlines but at a late night show with a mixed ability audience I think this was a canny way to kick off. Once Mitchell let us look behind their curtain, and started delivering material as themselves, the accent switches to disconcerting boarding school RP. Their takes on masculinity and living in class limbo are fascinating. They have a unique backstory that I won't spoil here. And while they state they feel more comfortable within the ebullient drag of John Travulva, I felt safer yet more challenged, appreciative and tickled by their traditional stand-up. There's a simplicity and directness to their intelligence where sometimes just stating what should be obvious (yet for huge swathes of het men isn't) lands the joke. There is a certain superiority to both John and Jodie that I find irksome, but it worked here, and the crowd lapped it up. Just don't come if you are a fan of only self-deprecation or humility.

The show stoppers Mitchell delivers are multitude. The drag performances that bookend the show had me hollering and whooping until I was hoarse. Black velvet lederhosen camp and a closer that ties the show in a neat pretty bow. There's a phone call from God that might not have the most original lines but is sustained for an impressive length. A little theatrical moment involving his beard being shaved off, and becoming their natural they, was perfectly pitched. And the closing anecdote is a gripping yarn... but I do worry how a Saturday night crowd, who will be less partisan than this preview audience, might take to its third laboured repetition. When bladders are full and the heat is on, could be dangerous territory. All in - Becoming John Travulva is an accomplished debut which blurs performance genres and genders with a deft touch. And there's a joke about a Greggs coffee that might just be my "Pick Of the Fringe" straight outta the gate.

DUTCH DEADPAN IN EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE SHOCKER! Micky Overman's The Precipice feels like an evolutionary leap for an act I have always associated with tight, merciless circuit ready stand-up. I will confess it has been a minute since I've seen her on stage. A themed show about relationships, broodiness and the future - these topics tessellate beautifully into each other while never feeling foreign to her caustic sense of humour. She's a big fan of the rule of three in her writing, a master of the technique. Her cadence allows for little fat in her craft yet you get a very intimate peek into her mindset, her hopes and fears and a vision of a robot dominated world that is surprisingly hopeful.

There's a grandstanding moment when Overman lays her cards on the table about her true desire that is playful and pure and a lot of daft fun. The unmasked happiness in her delivery as she slaps the room about with a repeated catchphrase is a joy to behold. And she finds room for neat asides on the anti-suffragettes and the concept of respect that still feel consummately on point. I remember Micky fondly from her early steps on the London open mic circuit, she was always gonna do well and The Precipice feels like a promise over delivered on.

Another act I've kept tabs on since his long forgotten Gong Show and Pearshaped days is dapper Don Biswas. A self-confessed, self-diagnosed "box ticker" it might be easier listing what neurodivergent labels Biswas doesn't have. And it is fair to say his autism / aspergers / dyspraxia does inform much of his humour but it never overwhelms. Because Don's main aim on stage is to be political comedian with a capital P.

There are the bare bones of a theme in The Revolution Will Be Disorganised: what would a modern revolution feel like? But the question isn't leaned into too hard and it is revisited gently. It proves more of a serviceable hook onto which he hangs his latest crop of current affairs one liners. Some are punny groaners, some are viciously lethal... worthy of Jimmy Carr at his most acidic. All delivered in his sincere, declarative voice which feels as much old Music Hall "I say, I say, I say..." as it does an outsider on the BBC News Quiz. There's a submarine gag that nearly made me do a chef's kiss at him.

It is hard not to fall hard for Biswas. At first glance there is a certain bumbling naivety to his stagework, and maybe... just maybe... that engenders a fast emotional connection between him and the audience. You can tell everyone in the room, even his exhausted from a full day of back-to-back shows, wanted him to pull off a victory, if not a revolution. Any sympathy subsides once you start hearing how brutally honed his writing is! The quality of his material dominated us. He might market himself as a "box ticker" but you can tell his ambition is to fuck all that and be considered one of the premier topical comics on the scene. A month of deserved full houses and that ambition will be hard to refute.

I guess my real take home from watching both Don and Micky after half a decade of downtime is seeing how happy they are on stage. Two very different comedians but you can tell they are up here swinging away out of a pure love for the game. Their eyes are alive; they are comfortable within their stage personas and creative strengths. There's something incomparable about watching talented people clearly loving what they do. CONTENT WARNING: Passion!