Kirsty Bosley: It really was alright on the night! Stand-up show got the laughs

We arrived at the centre at 2:30pm, five hours before the show kicked off, to polish our acts. Somehow, the idea of being all together outside of our universal comfort zone, drew us all closer together in a way that I didn't think would happen when I signed up to the course a couple of months previously.

Our friend and fellow comedienne Eileen had crocheted a set of hearts in pale pink and yellow, which we all took as good luck charms. I don't know what she's weaving into her wool, but they really seemed to work.

The Newhampton is a great, creative space. The women in the group dotted themselves around backstage, all talking to imaginary audiences and honing their sets. We all had one-to-one sessions with our mentor Janice Connolly (Barbara Nice) too, and she did her best to chisel our work to make it as funny as it could be. She promised us again that people would laugh and we believed her – she's ace.

Seeing the women backstage, giving one another support, was one of the most wonderful displays of sisterhood I've ever seen. The show was created to celebrate International Women's Week, hence why it was only ladies performing, and every lady in the group carried that with them.

No one chuntered when we were told who'd be going first up or who'd be closing the show, and no one dismissed anyone else's comedy as being anything less than great. We were ready to go, as a group.

And then my dress broke.

The zip, which had been playing up, separated, and I was an hour away from the show and 20 miles from home with no car. You have never seen a team rally so brilliantly as our group in that moment – they'd seen my panic-stricken face and weren't going to let it defeat me or ruin this long-anticipated evening.

One lady jostled with the zip while another went on a mission to find a tool capable of fixing it. Another ran upstairs at lightning speed to find a seamstress while a fourth rustled around in her bag for a sewing kit. A fifth suggested outfit alternatives, all while I sat there with a face like thunder, wondering whether I could get away with just going home and forgetting it'd ever happened.

With no seamstress on hand, no tool to fix the zip and no chance of heading out on stage in my vest and pants like a child who's forgotten her PE kit, I agreed to be sewn into the garment. One of the ladies from Black Country Touring, armed with a needle and thread, carefully secured me into the dress with more consideration than I expect was demanded of her in her job description. She was amazing.

No sooner had the last stitch been sewn than we were told that people had started to file into the theatre for the show. I had been expecting around 80 people to turn up at most (10 of them noisy friends and colleagues), and when we entered the room, we were greeted by more than 100, with more arriving all the time.

The room quickly became full, and the spare chairs were brought out for the people at the back like a Christmas Day dinner at your nan's house.

With nearly 200 paying punters waiting to be amused, the pressure should have been on, but we were all surprisingly OK. At least, no one appeared to be super stressed.

In hindsight, it was a very strange kind of serenity for me. It was the kind of calm that must come to a prisoner on the night before they ride the lightning in an electric chair.

You know how you see them in American dramas, gobbling down KFC or whatever else they've ordered for their last meal. It always surprises me that they could stomach it.

But as I quietly supped a bottle of beer, waiting for my turn on stage, I related.

One by one, the girls got up and the audience whooped and cheered in appreciation. It wasn't fake titters and polite applause, it was genuine belly laughs – Janice was right, it was paying off. It was so great to see the other women on the course nail their sets, delivering cracking comedy with confidence.

There were some truly hilarious moments, and each of the acts were different. Some told tales of technology, others made light of politics. It was a well-organised mix.

Of the 10 of us performing, I was third from last to take to the stage and I waited in the wings for my turn. I was mostly worried that I wouldn't remember my set – a five minute script that I'd been reading over and over to myself for two weeks.

My material had somehow encompassed some of the most run of the mill subjects in a Black Country girl's life – the Midland Metro tram service and Greggs. I don't know how that came to be, but that's what it was.

I'd also somehow managed to incorporate a newspaper into my skit, though that element didn't quite go to plan. As I unfolded the paper to search for the right page, there was supposed to be some tussling. But then I couldn't find the Post-It note I'd hidden inside for real and the paper fell apart. I snatched it up, panicking. No note. I had memorised the line though, almost, and so moved back into position to deliver it, albeit unsurely.

They laughed! Hurrah!

After the show had finished, the girls all congratulated one another and made plans to meet up again.

"You know the bit I really liked best?" questioned my colleague Back Page Pete Cashmore after the show had finished.

Was it the opening joke, that I'd designed to set the tone? Or was it the one I'd 'punched home' mid-way?

"I liked the bit when you wrestled with the newspaper," he said, "I thought that was great."

Typical!