Bethany Black: Love and a Colt 45

“It just got a bit awkward”, announces Bethany Black, having inflicted on us yet another agonisingly earnest glimpse into her unhappy life. She is sadly mistaken – things got awkward the minute a paltry audience of 10 shuffled to their seats and realised what they’d let themselves in for.

As a transsexual lesbian goth, it’s safe to say Black has niche appeal. Few comedians are better equipped to discuss sexual identity, addiction and prejudice than she; which is exactly why it’s so frustrating that she covers these with exclusive reference to her own, surprisingly mundane life in the supposedly intolerant northwest of England. Her insights into sexuality extend little further than being called a ‘lady-poof’, while for someone who boasts years of sobriety, she dedicates an inordinate proportion of her set to juvenile bragging about drunken misadventures.

“I don’t like myself”, she’ll admit – yet, evidently, she finds herself fascinating. A humble persona makes her perfectly likeable, but her insistence on drawing material from uncomfortably open wounds tries the sympathy of an audience who squirm when they should be laughing.

Her set may be self-pitying, self-obsessed and self-indulgent – but despite the lethargic reception and woeful turnout, it’s also remarkably self-assured. That she addresses row upon row of empty seats without ever really breaking stride gives her the dubious accolade of bravest comic in the face of failure. With a sentimental finale that sees her leading the audience outside to release balloons with tags marked ‘I forgive…’, it’s unsurprising that many have been completing the form with the name, ‘Bethany Black’.