When chills go up your spine at a Lady Bolognese show there are a number of reasons for them. They’re all good, in my book. Compulsive by way of menace-eliciting-childish-delight sets the tone for the hour. The pair shuffle in with faces hidden behind a black A4 ring binder, huddled together conspiratorially with only hair nets and kitchen smocks showing. Throaty chuckles amplify through the mics they’ve taken with them behind their hiding-admin board, play with the tension beautifully. One hand shoots up into sight, fingers fold down in a clown play demanding attention and then slowly grasp the board, lowering it to reveal the startling blue face of ‘Veronica’ and green face of ‘Barbara’, sniggering with big gargoyle eyes. And they’ve got us.

It’s a great play with power structure that the two set up as school dinner ladies and the audience a junior school class. They’ve got the power, but it’s not massive. They’re subversive with it, playing with comedic horror and enjoyably grotesque. “Packed lunch or school dinner?!” Veronica demands, singling out audience members to fall into the trap of betraying the pair with the wrong answer. “What’s Mum got what we ain’t got?” becomes the next in-your-face semi-threat, cueing up screamingly surreal responses from the pair to such innocuous answers as “Peperami?”.

And thus the tone is set. These Winners of 2026 Leicester Comedy Festival Award for Best Variety Show vibrate with ready to be tapped anarchy. This particular junior class has more than your average number of reprobates due to a large group coming in as a birthday party, off-roading the show somewhat at one point, but as a show deeply rooted in clowning skills this proved simply just more grist to the mill. It did leave me curious as to what route the show had originally planned to take though.

Another small gripe was that the microphones disappeared pretty early on, only to re-appear at the very end. I wanted to hear every single grumble and odd phrase from creators/performers Tanika Lay-Meachen and Matt Straker, and although most were caught the close mic work had slapped that beastly funny intimidation down pat.

The finale returned those literal chills to my spine with eyes closed for story time. I don’t trust them, in a deeply enjoyable way, anything could happen. And it’s that uncertain tension, the wonder of transgressed lines, distrust in authority, that is so utterly mischievously delightful about Lady Bolognese.

Junk Poets at Caravanserai, 23 May, 2.30pm, £9.50/8.

https://www.brightonfringe.org/events/lady-bolognese-class-war/

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