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Born in Canterbury in 1987, Harriet Kemsley is a comedian and podcaster. She began standup in 2011, winning a string of best newcomer awards. As well as touring, she has appeared on 8 Out of 10 Cats and LOL: Last One Laughing UK. In 2017 she starred in the Viceland reality series Bobby & Harriet Get Married with fellow comedian Bobby Mair, with whom she has a four-year-old daughter, Mabel. She presents the podcast Single Ladies in Your Area with Amy Gledhill, and her new show, Floozy, begins in October.
This thick fringe was a big part of my childhood. Sadly now I don’t have the get-up-and-go to maintain one. It’s a separate job altogether. I have no idea where the photo was taken; it could have been Kent, it could have been on holiday, but either way I would have loved that ice-cream. My expression is pure joy. My parents say that I was a conscientious child and very well-behaved. Sadly this has been in steady decline over the years. I was incredibly shy and didn’t know what to say to anybody. Someone would ask how I was and I would panic and say nothing. I have a younger brother and sister but nobody ever thought I was the eldest as I didn’t seem responsible enough.
I grew up on a farm. We had a lot of raspberries and pears, so as a kid I would eat them fresh, which is ironic as I’ve since developed an allergy to raw fruit and vegetables. When I was eight, my pet chicken died and I suddenly made the connection between dead animals and meat. After that I became a vegetarian – which was unusual for a farmer’s daughter.
My mum used to say, “Funny things always happen to you, Harriet.” Now I know that’s partly because I am dyspraxic. I couldn’t sit through a whole meal without knocking over a glass. I am also generally prone to random comedic incidents. We went to the zoo once and the rhino pissed on me through the fence. Situations like that were a constant. It was unfortunate as my default setting was already embarrassed, then absurd things kept happening to me, which would mean that I would be embarrassed to be the centre of attention.
I went to an all-girls school, so I was never good at speaking to boys. Without that kind of distraction, it did mean I could throw myself into my passion, which was acting, although nobody ever took me seriously. I played the grandma in Red Riding Hood and the audience just laughed at me. I couldn’t believe it; I was trying so hard to be earnest.
The teen years were tough for my parents. I discovered that alcohol made me confident, so there was lots of underage clubbing. Being shy was a real obstacle in terms of my ambitions – I wanted to go to drama school but I couldn’t get in because I was introverted and didn’t have enough life experience. To try to overcome this, I spent a year studying at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York. I lived in the middle of Manhattan in a hotel full of cockroaches and mice. It was brilliant.
When I came back, I still couldn’t get into any drama schools, so I studied English Literature at Kingston University and had a part-time job at the Rose theatre. When I graduated I got a job transcribing the news for a media agency. I would arrive at my desk in a basement in Shoreditch at 6am and spend the day typing up whatever horrible global events had happened that day. It was around then that I started standup. The combination of sleep deprivation and a constant stream of awful news stories meant my early material was very dark.
My parents were the first people to suggest I try standup, which was unconventional but touching – they seemed to understand what I should be applying myself to better than I did. I Googled “standup” and it said there was a gig in Green Park above a pub. I signed up using my first name and middle name, as I was horrified that someone might see “Harriet Kemsley” and think I was arrogant enough to believe I could be funny on stage. I felt sick in the four-week lead-up to the gig, but it went fine. I came off stage thinking: this is the thing that I want to do for the rest of my life.
I kept standup secret from everyone for a long time, but six months in, the media agency somehow found out. They were relieved because they thought I had a drug problem – I’d been turning up to work completely exhausted and wired most days. Apparently I’d been talking to myself in the toilets a lot. At one of my first shows, the promoter said, “It’s £10 for 10 minutes.” I didn’t know whether I was going to be paid £10, or if I had to pay him £10. I spoke to my mum and she said, “Just bring £10 in case.” After the show he handed me the money. I couldn’t believe it. I still have it now, even though there have been many times where I’ve really needed £10.
Part of my process is using comedy to work through my feelings so I can move on. Something bad happened to me at the start of my career, so I wrote about it in my show Slutty Joan. I didn’t go to the police after I was sexually assaulted, so the show became a way for me to do something active and have agency. I had this visceral anger – sometimes it would connect with the audience, other times it wasn’t what people wanted to hear. Saying what happened out loud helped me get rid of the shame and guilt. I did a lot of therapy, too, which really helped, as you need to be at a certain stage of healing to find the comedy in something terrible. Before doing Slutty Joan it was something I thought about every day and had nightmares about. Now I don’t, which is amazing. I never thought I’d get there.
I am a completely different person since my daughter, Mabel, arrived four years ago. I never considered myself a capable person until I became a mum. When Bobby and I broke up, I didn’t know how I was going to get through it. There are days I want to do nothing, but I still have to get up and make porridge. The juggle of co-parenting and doing a job that typically happens at night is overwhelming, but I have a group of amazing babysitters. Plus we are in the same boat, so we understand how hectic schedules can get and want to support each other so we live happy, fulfilled lives. That being said, I would love not to share a Google calendar with my ex-husband. He’s like, “So you have laser hair removal on Tuesday?”
A lot of things in my life haven’t been easy, but I feel so grateful this is my job. I’ve found a way to frame those experiences and connect with people. Plus I’m never short of stupid things happening to me. I went snowboarding with Lou Sanders recently and, in the space of about 10 minutes, I got stuck in a fence, then Lou got wedged between my legs trying to get me out, then my snowboard knocked into about 20 skis, which fell like dominoes. I’m not even sure I could put that into my set. Some things are better left as chaos.
