Siobhan Phillips walked onto the Britain’s Got Talent stage with the kind of wry smile that told the audience she knew exactly what she was about to do — and that she was ridiculously pleased to be doing it. At 42, from Wakefield in Yorkshire, she presented herself as a seasoned performer with a dream that felt almost defiantly ordinary: she wanted her own little venue where people would come to see her perform night after night. That aspiration, she explained, was the kind of thing you dream up after years of doing the practical things in life and deciding it was finally time to chase a proper creative outlet. What followed was a song she’d written about motherhood, an experience she only became “familiar” with after having her baby at 40 — and one she turned into a brilliantly honest comedic set.
Siobhan set the tone before a single note was played, deadpanning to the audience that she’d considered writing a melody about cake but couldn’t make it interesting enough. Instead, she chose the far more combustible subject of being a sleep-deprived, wine-fuelled new mum, and that choice proved instantly winning. She sat at the piano and launched into a piece that cleverly fused musical theatre’s narrative drive with stand-up’s sharp timing. From the opening bars, it was obvious this wasn’t just a throwaway novelty — the arrangement had thought behind it, the phrasing hit like a gag, and the piano accompaniment underscored every comedic twist.
Her lyrics were the sort that make parents sit up and howl because they recognise their own lives inside the punchlines. Siobhan sang about chronic sleep deprivation in such a way that the audience could feel the drag of nights awake; she joked that she looked “102,” an exaggeration that landed because anyone who’s been elbow-deep in nappy changes knows that time can warp in the fog of exhaustion. She moved nimbly from small, specific details — the crushing disappointment of a solo trip to the supermarket turning into a marathon because you forgot the trolley’s broken — to broad, escalating images like the toddler years being a “constant circus” of sticky fingers and shrieks.
One of the darker-tinged laugh lines involved “Mr. Tumble” and his spotted backpack, a reference that cut to the bone of parental frustrations with children’s TV characters and the way they worm their way into family life. Siobhan’s comic wish to “strangle Mr. Tumble” was delivered with theatrical abandon, making clear she was exaggerating for laughs but also exposing that near-hysterical level of exhaustion that parents sometimes feel. The audience — full of parents and non-parents alike — roared, partly because the truth of it rang so clearly.
There were gentler, smart lines, too. She expressed relief that her daughter was “far too young to discuss the Brexit deal,” a comment that blended topical humour with the protective instincts many parents feel about sparing their children the uglier sides of adult conversations. Her final, absurd aspiration — hoping her daughter would marry “Eric Cowell,” presumably to secure financial comfort — was a comic crescendo: outrageous, self-aware, and totally in character for a performer who knows how to play with expectations. It was the kind of joke that simultaneously exposed the pressures on modern parents and deflected them with a gallows humour that felt both cathartic and very British.
Throughout the performance, Siobhan’s delivery was a study in timing. She paused at just the right moments to let a gag land, and her facial expressions — a combination of faux-exasperation and wry resignation — added layers to lines that might otherwise have fallen flat on the page. The piano accompaniment gave her room to breathe, and she used those instrumental moments to mug, glance at the audience, and underline the absurdity of certain domestic scenes. At one point, she mimed the desperate scramble for a five-minute bathroom break, and the audience erupted because that tiny, private wish is something parents seldom get but always long for.
The judges were taken with more than the jokes; they appreciated the craft behind them. David Walliams, who knows a thing or two about sketch comedy and songs that land, praised Siobhan for pulling off a tough balancing act. Comedy songs, he pointed out, are difficult to execute because they require both musical competence and comic precision — and Siobhan had delivered “real belly laughs throughout.” Amanda Holden found the material “brilliant,” speaking directly to the relatability of the moments about never using the toilet in peace and the relentless demands of parenting. Even Simon Cowell, who can be hardest to please, was charmed; he called the act “very funny” and “endearing,” noting that she had “lit up the room.” Those words carry weight because they suggest the contestant had done more than get a few chuckles — she had created a show moment.
When the four unanimous “Yes” votes came through, it felt like a validation not only of Siobhan’s talent but of a very particular kind of artistic voice: one that mines the ordinary and makes it gleam. For a woman who started juggling motherhood later in life and still somehow found time to write and stage a sharp, polished comedy song, the approval was sweet. More than that, it nudged her a step closer to the small venue she dreamed of, the place where she could perform those wry observations night after night to people who understood and appreciated the kind of humour that comes from real-life trials.
As she left the stage, grinning and a little breathless from the applause, there was a sense of warmth in the room. Siobhan hadn’t just told jokes; she had offered an honest, affectionate portrait of contemporary parenting, warts and all. In doing so, she reminded everyone that humour is a form of survival: in the nursery, in the supermarket, and on the stage of a national television show.
