From funny kid to Adelaide Fringe comedian

An Adelaide comedian’s first aid journey

As an Adelaide first aid trainer and comedian performing at the Adelaide Fringe, people often ask how I found this unique combination. The answer lies in a pivotal moment from my school days...

How I found my superpower

High school was a labyrinth of lockers and lunch trays. A place where the air was thick with hormones and half-baked dreams. I was a good kid but I definitely saw my fair share of the Principal’s office. I was what people would have referred to as the class clown, although I never saw it like that.

High school was just high school… then came THE meeting. You know, the kind that sends shivers down your spine and makes you question every decision that led that point.

My homeroom teacher and the Principal called me in to the Principal’s office. A closed door affair. No one ever expects to walk into a Principal's office and come out unscathed. This guy? He was the type who wandered the yard during lunch, picking up trash like it was a sacred duty. A janitor in a tie and sports jacket.

You are funny

And there I was, sitting in this sterile office, feeling like a potential road kill in headlights, wondering if I’d finally crossed some invisible line. “Don’t worry,” my teacher said, smiling like someone who’d just found the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle. “You’re not getting in trouble anymore.” Oh, great, I thought. What did I do this time? “You aren’t a bad kid you are funny,” they said, as if that was some kind of diagnosis. The kind where you’re not sick but you’re definitely not normal either. “Okay,” I replied, trying to decode this new identity they were handing me. “Funny…” Then they hit me with: “You’re not stupid.”

A wave of relief crashed over me. Not that I ever worried about being stupid. Having it confirmed by authority figures though was like getting a gold star on a report card for existence.

“Don’t let anyone call you stupid,” the Principal said. “You just have a different skill set. Everyone is a genius but a fish would look pretty stupid climbing a ladder.”

The homeroom teacher chipped in, “You tell stories well. You’re engaging. You’re funny. You’re a good painter. Someday, you’ll be a great comedian or a renowned artist. Or you will find a job that allows you to tell stories.”

The bombshell that changed my life

Then came the bombshell: my subjects were changing. No more maths and science. Arts and English based studies only. Just like that, I was thrust into a world where creativity reigned and rules were mere suggestions. It felt like someone had handed me a passport to be one of the unusual kids at school where they all seemed to wear weird hats and Doc Martens. Was I supposed to start dressing like a misunderstood poet? Cause I didn’t want too.

That day marked a turning point. Suddenly, I was granted a licence to be audacious. I could say things that were risky. Things that made people uncomfortable. Their words echoed in my mind like mantras.

The artist in me

Fast forward to the year 2000 and I found myself at the former School of the National Gallery, now the Victorian College of the Arts studying painting.

I paint my show posters as well as Fiona O’Loughlin’s.

But while I was studying painting, I knew I was just biding my time until I could master comedy on stage. Universities didn’t offer degrees in comedy, and thank goodness for that. Most of the students at art school were drowning in student loans while frothing beer heads or making lattes. I can only imagine what comedy students would have to do to get by, post degree, because it would have had to have been way worse than that. But I kept my dream of being a comic close to my chest, hidden from the prying eyes of the rest of the school. You protect the things you love, don’t you?

Fast forward even further, and I win the Russell Gilbert Choice Comedian Award, I appear at the International Melbourne Comedy Festival for several years, tour with epic comedians, and get to perform at the Sammy D Foundation Adelaide Comedy Gala and the Adelaide Fringe for the last 7 years.

Words are spells

But that conversation with my homeroom teacher and Principal shaped my entire life. They either saw something in me or words really are spells. Who knows?

But it let me connect with what I wanted to do, not what I had to do. And now, standing on stage or in front of a classroom, I try to channel that consideration and kindness that was given to me.

I remain curious about my students, in a pursuit to understand instead of judging them. I wish all students had teachers around them that were as caring as these two mentors were for me.

Making learning first aid fun and engaging

Today, this story continues to shape my approach to first aid training in Adelaide. Whether I'm performing comedy during Fringe season or teaching first aid classes, those teachers' words still ring true. That different "skill set" they recognised? It's transformed into something unexpected - making first aid training both memorable and engaging for everyone who walks through our door.

Because sometimes the most important stories we tell aren't on stage at the Adelaide Fringe, they're in first aid training rooms across Adelaide, where storytelling can save lives.