By Michael Casey

THIS reviewer will admit that he didn’t really know an awful lot about the Scummy Mummies when he put his name forward to review.

But he got a strong indication that he might be one of the very few few males in the audience when he got to the Harlow Playhouse.

Thankfully, the Playhouse staff put him right at the back of the 350 strong auditorium. He also had the benefit of two man in the audience who were perfect human shields.

Right, enough about me, what about the show.

Like Ed Byrne the previous night, there was a palpable sense of relief at being out and about. And for 300 plus mums, you can times that by ten.

The basic theme of the Scummy Mummies is to celebrate life as it is for mums and to stick two satirical fingers as to life as others think it should be.

The core of the act is the wonderful use of the audience. Therefore, that makes much of this part of the show improvised and unpredictable.

The Scummy Mummies, Ellie Gibson and Helen Thorn played the audience beautifully, finding that the ladies at the front, chowing down on chocolate and Prosecco had all met at the National Childbirth Trust (NCT) group. But playing on that, they had little lines which forensically summed up some members of such groups. “Did you have one member who has to leave at 2pm as that’s when Tobias has to have his hour”.

There as also another glorious line about a woman suggesting she would learn Mandarin whilst her first born slept. “Sweetheart, after a couple of weeks, you want have the strength to order a Chinese!”

They say that soul music is about the music going to the very heart (and soul) of the audience member and same with the Scummy Mummies. They really celebrated and defended the lives of mothers.

The confessional part was a hoot. All we will say is baby monitors, gravestones and they weren’t even the winners……And another killer line was getting the only non0mum to judge the winners: “Cos you know how much non-mums just love to judge us”

The show divides itself into monologues, audience and song. By the nineties finale, the audience could have stayed for a dance into the small hours.

This was not a man-hating show. Guys, get over yourselves. You just ain’t all that. This was a glorious, rampant, chaotic celebration of life as a mum, less warts and all but more folds and all.

After eighteen long months, it was a joy to see the Playhouse packed again. Please please keep supporting all the shows.