06/05/2026
**Listen and Read**
walks onstage
like she’s late to a fistfight
with God,
hair half storm cloud,
half pub carpet static,
holding truths in her teeth
like loose nails.
And she speaks.
Not the polished TED Talk kind of speaking,
not the “here are my vulnerable bits
carefully branded for Instagram” kind.
No.
She speaks like someone
who has cried in supermarket carparks,
laughed at funerals
kissed the wrong people deliberately,
and still somehow
knows that’s just where hope lives.
You can feel the room shift.
Pints pause mid air.
Someone’s boyfriend stops pretending
he “doesn’t really like female comedians”.
A woman in the back nods so hard
you fear for her fu***ng vertebrae.
Because Kyla tells stories
the way old folk songs do.
Blunt.
Honest.
A little bit dangerous.
Like she could expose your childhood wounds
while lighting a cigarette
off the smouldering co**se of your ego.
And yet
there’s softness there too.
A warmth.
The kind you only find
in women who have survived themselves
and still buy fake mustaches and glitter.
She has that rare thing,
that impossible thing,
where depth doesn’t feel heavy.
Where pain arrives
wearing sequins and muddy boots.
And honestly,
if the universe ever does collapse in on itself,
if politicians keep chatting absolute sh*te,
and billionaires keep building rockets
instead of empathy,
I suspect the solution
will be Kyla Cobbler
sitting cross legged at a sticky bar table,
three sweet sherries deep,
pointing at the moon like she fu***ng owns it,
saying:
“Well.
Maybe the problem is
everyone’s forgotten
how to bloody make spells lads.”
So I’m here, ordering her new memoir, Happy, Thank You. More, Please.: How I got grateful, stayed mortified, and learned to trust the universe,” and booking tickets for when shes back from New Zealand. You should do the same
Wednesday, 13 May 2026 (7:00 PM): State Theatre, Sydney by