It’s a bright Monday morning at Yarra Bend Park, the largest area of natural bushland in inner-city Melbourne. Green and lush, the park gently hums with both natural and human activity: birds tweet overhead, dogs swim in the water, parents and grandparents push babbling babies in prams. Occasionally, distant planes rumble as they take off and land at Essendon Fields airport, just north-west of here. It’s easy to forget this tranquil place is right in the middle of a bustling metropolis.
Near Dights Falls, at the northern end of the park, Geraldine Hickey stops in her tracks and stares up at the trees. “There were some tawny frogmouths here,” the comedian says in quiet reverence, scanning the sky for signs. “But that was months ago.” With no sign of the birds, she walks on, her dogs – chihuahua papillon mix Harry (short for Harriet) and Koolie Lloyd (“like Dumb and Dumber”) – bounding ahead.
With a career spanning more than 20 years, Hickey is a household name in Australian comedy; a regular at Melbourne international comedy festival, she won its top gong in 2021. She has also appeared on television shows such as Spicks and Specks, Have You Been Paying Attention? and Guy Montgomery’s Guy Mont Spelling Bee, and last year competed in the reality show I’m a Celebrity … Get Me Out of Here!
Hickey with her dogs Harry and Lloyd. Photograph: Ellen Smith/The Guardian
The comedian’s deadpan charm on stage is exactly the same in person – within minutes of us meeting, she feels like an old friend. Candid and warm, Hickey peppers her sentences with “mate” and a hearty laugh as we walk and talk..
We’re in this park because Hickey is a keen runner and birdwatcher – she is dressed the part in reflective sunglasses, a special birding legionnaire hat, a rain jacket and sensible shoes.
Hickey developed these passions during Covid lockdowns. Running came from a step challenge she did with her wife, Cath Bateman. “I remember thinking, it takes so long to get to 10,000 steps – there must be a quicker way of doing this,” she says. “I never thought that I’d be able to run for more than a couple of minutes. I remember the first time I ran for 20 minutes, and I was just like, oh my god.”
While co-hosting the breakfast show on Melbourne’s community station Triple R, Hickey met fellow comedian and birdwatcher Sean Dooley. He challenged her to spot as many birds as possible within her 5km radius during lockdown. From there, her obsession blossomed – each year since 2020, Hickey has released a calendar of bird photos she takes herself with her “aggressive-sized zoom lens”. “It’s quite meditative,” she says. “I’m trying to make it cool, mate.”
‘My material has always come from whatever’s been going on in my life,’ says the comedian. Photograph: Ellen Smith/The Guardian
Yarra Bend Park is one of Hickey’s go-to birdwatching spots, and its peace and quiet allows her to take a breath and reflect amid a busy life and career. “I’ve sat on benches and cried here,” she says. “When my dad died during the comedy festival three years ago, I made a post so people knew that was why my show had been rescheduled … I sat down on the bench and read [the messages of support].”
Hickey is no stranger to sharing her personal life, bringing audiences into her inner world through her experiences. “My material has always come from whatever’s been going on in my life. I’m not good at making stuff up.”
I’m aware of how I look – I’m aware that a lot would assume that I’m non-binaryGeraldine Hickey
In her 2024 show, Don’t Tease Me About My Gloves, Hickey discussed her experience with Raynaud’s syndrome, which restricts blood flow to the hands and feet. She’s also open about her adult ADHD diagnosis: “It was a big boost in my self-confidence – it was like, I’m not dumb.”
Her new show, A Weight Off My Chest, is about getting breast reduction surgery. Or, more accurately in her case, breast removal. She had the operation in 2025 after a lifetime of suffering – “I grew up with big, shit boobs” that felt like “two big sandbags … getting in the way”.
“From the moment I heard about breast reduction, I was like, ‘Oh, I’ll do that’,” she says. “[In my] early 40s, [I heard] someone had a breast reduction which just took them all, and I was just like” – that signature deadpan, again – “‘Actually, yeah … I don’t need ’em! I don’t want ’em!’”
Running was one of the reasons why the surgery made sense for Hickey. “One of the hardest things about running was finding a good sports bra … That’s part of the reason why I never thought I’d be a runner,” she says. The solution pre-surgery was unwieldy: “[I’d] wear a normal bra, and then another sports bra crop top over the top.”
‘I’m quite affirmed in my gender,’ Hickey says. Photograph: Ellen Smith/The Guardian
But Hickey is quick to clarify that her breast reduction surgery is not the same as the gender-affirming “top surgery” undertaken by transgender people; she’s careful about the language she uses, so as not to claim or speak over their experience. “I’m aware of how I look – I’m aware that a lot would assume that I’m non-binary, [but] I’m quite affirmed in my gender … There was no gender dysphoria [for me],” she says. “I don’t care about my pronouns … but that’s not to say that I don’t think anybody should care about their pronouns. It’s completely the opposite.”
The show also incorporates stories of Bateman, an abortion nurse who established a reproductive health clinic in the regional town of Morwell in 2022. “I’m really proud of the work she does,” Hickey beams. “She started that role three years ago, and before that, anyone in the area might have travelled to Melbourne to get a medical abortion – previously, there was nowhere in that area. Doctors weren’t doing it.”
Last year, Bateman performed 300 free abortions. Hickey took her out to a celebratory dinner to mark the milestone and posted about it online. “That got shared amongst some people that did not agree,” she says with a dark laugh. “It’s all these rightwing Christians … It’s fascinating reading the comments.”
I remind Hickey of the age-old piece of digital wisdom: don’t read the comments! “I didn’t mind because it’s not a personal attack,” she counters calmly. “To me, going through marriage equality, they’re the comments that you don’t read. This, it was just like – well, first of all, they’re wrong.”
She pauses for a beat. “Yeah, so there’ll be a chat about safe and accessible abortion care.” Like a sermon, I suggest? She laughs warmly in response.
After all, for Hickey, comedy is about getting the chance to understand others. Through her work, she hopes that others will come to understand her world, too. “One of the great things about comedy is all the different voices that you get to hear,” she says. “When you see shows from people with a different life experience … you’re just like, oh, who’d have thought that?”