Matt Miller has a couple of preferences when it comes to the language of gender and sexuality. Firstly, they’d rather a neutral pronoun to the stark binary of ‘he/she’. Secondly, they’d rather be described as ‘midsexual’ than ‘bisexual’. They don’t insist, though. It’s this ‘not insisting’ that set the tone for Fitting, a show about fluid identity and how that might be rendered visible (or not) through the costume of everyday clothes. The piece is an attempt to transcribe the subjective experience of occupying a shifting middle ground onto the mediums of stage and of language. Rest easy, it is not confrontational. It’s …meditative? Exploratory? It demonstrates. It does not insist.

Fitting is Matt’s second solo show, and although it arises out of personal experience they have moved away from the autobiographical mode of their first show, Sticking, which I think is a significant step up towards more sophisticated storytelling. Anecdote is here, but it’s only one way to explain what fluidity of gender presentation might actually mean, day to day. Everything in the show is designed for this purpose. Visually, Matt is constantly changing between ‘male’ and ‘female’ clothes, combining and contrasting the most symbolically gendered items (like stiletto heels and suits). As they do so they shift their language too, repeating phrases with changing pronouns, using self-descriptions that are at odds with what we can see, employing a floating detachment of tone that leads us to question – who is Matt now? What is Matt now?  A thread of sleight-of-hand magic runs through the show, providing a beautiful visual metaphor for how appearances can be deceptive, how visibility externally and confidence internally can come in and out of phase.

The magic tricks also give us something graceful and skilled to watch, and Matt’s obviously worked very hard to get them smooth. The last one in particular is genuinely boggling! I’m really excited to see them try, and succeed, at something like this. In the past I have been struck by a cautious quality in Matt’s physical performances, a sense of their body being held back, reticent. It’s clear in this show that their director has pushed them towards a more adventurous use of gesture and enactment, which has worked well, up to a point – some of the larger body movements are still quite tentative. Matt is so fluent as a writer, I wonder if they are reluctant to let go of the comfort zone of words? One scene in particular, an encounter on a bus, was beautifully acted, but narrated at the same time. I’d love to see some of those superfluous words let go and the narrative brought to life through physicality alone – I think it might be one way to enliven the show’s pace and overall tone.

A dreamlike sameness of tone was what stopped me from LOVING rather than really liking this show, and that could just be about where my head was at on the night. Certainly, don’t go expecting a traditional story arc with points of dramatic conflict. Think of this more like a poem. Matt is a very talented poet. the language they use in this show is very straightforward, but the way the piece is structured through repetition, metaphor, and association owes more to poetry. The effect is like entering a prism in which Matt’s experience of their own identities is turned and turned through all its facets, looking for the place where all truths come together, where ‘either/or’ is resolved into ‘I am’.

The SMOG (Work in Progress showing)

Firstly, dear readers, I’d like us just to agree that Teesside Surreal is A Thing. Is that OK? The rest of the world may think Vic & Bob are an isolated phenomenon, but we know that Teesside Surreal is a bona fide comedic genre, a specific cultural expression. I’m here to tell you, if you didn’t already know, that Scott Turnbull is its king.

Now comes the part where you’ll want me to tell you what The SMOG is ‘about’, or in some way synopsise the plot. This is going to prove difficult. For one thing, there are lots of plots, because as Turnbull handily explains, this is a ‘portmanteau horror’ in which several short stories are loosely held together by a framework narrative. I suppose I could tell you a bit about what the fine young lesbians did with the thing they found in the sea cave, or what the teenage rabbit saw through her binoculars, or even hint at the reason for the water turning brown. But I can’t say a thing without ruining the jokes! The plots are thickly strewn with jokes, you can’t take a turn without stepping on a joke; hell, the plots are jokes! So sorry, I don’t want to find myself knee-deep in the vivisected corpses of jokes like Dr Moreau surrounded by dead dogs. (Spoiler – there are dead dogs. You’ll laugh at them. You won’t want to, but you will.)

Instead let me tell you about Turnbull’s USP – the OHP. He tells his stories mostly seated at an old overhead projector, combining pre-drawn acetates with live illustration. He punctuates the on-screen action with fantastically bizarre interpretive-dance-style stand-up theatre, sometimes with tights on his head. A man pulling tights off his head should simply not be that funny, but there you go, it bloody well is. The whole show is so funny that at one point I literally had to put my fist in my mouth and slide down the wall whimpering.

What I suspect he wouldn’t tell you himself is that the show is also very, very clever. Turnbull is obviously an intelligent consumer of narrative styles, conventions, and clichés. The graphic-novel quality of the live illustrations in his first show, Where Do All The Dead Pigeons Go?, is amplified by excellent incidental music here until it takes on cinematic qualities. Turnbull is fluent in the visual language of different shot-types – the build from long shot to close-up, the sexualised red-carpet reveal from the feet up (and it’s comedic potential). At one point there’s a spaced-out audio-collage of dialogue snippets worthy of Airplane!

This fluency is not just in visual storytelling tropes, but in literary styles as well. Turnbull is as pitch-perfect at the repressed hysterical tones of the 19th-century mad scientist’s diary as he is at disaffected LA teen. No sooner does he set up the type than he flips it, twists it, perforates it with absurdity and renders the whole thing hilarious. If like me you are also an intelligent consumer of narrative styles and conventions, you might find this show not only massively funny but also deeply satisfying because of this sure-footed play-about with form.

We have a year to wait before the finished piece is touring out there in the world, by which time Turnbull assures us there will be an ending. Will we find out what Charlie was doing on the roof of the Swallow Hotel? Will earth ever throw off the yoke of their alien overlords? Stay tuned, dear readers, stay tuned…

Go Away Johnny

Six people slither slowly across a sheepskin rug for seven minutes while Maria Callas belts out ‘Casta Diva’. It isn’t my usual choice of entertainment for a Saturday night but this was the centrepiece to a rich, challenging and engrossing dance piece by Peter Groom. Go Away Johnny takes its title from a line in a Marlene Dietrich film (The Foreign Affair) at a point when Marlene is forced to remember something, a decidedly apt choice as memory sits at the core of this work.

What we are presented with is a collection of fleeting moments – some obviously cemented in real situations, others more abstract and relating to feelings – based mainly around human interaction. Even in those moments with descriptive dialogue, such as the intermittent monologues about love and loneliness, it only feels as if we’re getting half the story. As Groom himself said in the post-show Q&A, the feeling he sought to translate was of grabbing hopelessly at those lost moments. They return not fully formed and perhaps not even in accordance with the reality of the past. This was expressed most clearly with a moment near the end where one dancer (Alys North) rushed madly around the space, seemingly trying to recreate a moment from near the start. Whether she succeeded was open to interpretation but there was something touching about seeing the other dancers help her so frantically.

The dancers – North alongside Jen Carss, Ian Garside, George Siena, Alex Rowland, Charlie Dearnley and Rosie Terry Toogood – are impeccable and their choreography strikingly beautiful. Their search for connection throughout the dreamlike conveyor belt of touches, conversations and emotion is palpably fragile and human. They should perhaps be called ‘performers’ as the piece was just as much theatre as dance (unsurprising given the name of the company); certain sections including one set in a radio studio and another featuring an elegant professional who seems to be involved in torturing several head-bagged prisoners were very humorous.

The set is simply the aforementioned large sheepskin rug, chosen by Groom to reflect two personal memories of comfort and also the idea that memories are tangible but useless. Similarly to memories, the rug envelopes the ensemble and they find themselves drawn to it time and time again.

Music – generally classical or operatic – fulfils the function of a narrative, or as Groom put it, ‘a thread with different colours’. This is because the vignettes themselves are presented quite randomly – except for the slug section which occurs in the middle – and herein is my only real criticism. Despite the echoing of certain images (four men in dresses rolling cigarettes for example), there is little to take us through from one image to the next. This left me feeling slightly unsatisfied by the ending and could have been avoided with some rearrangement of the sections. That however is a minor quibble and it is perhaps impossible to achieve a congruity throughout the show as each memory has a different feeling, taking you down a different path. Maybe the best way to look at Go Away Johnny is to reflect on the feelings it provokes as a whole rather than trying to make sense of its components. It certainly is masterful in evoking those dark caverns of the mind where nothing quite makes sense.

The piece has been developed over 18 months with the help of the Arts Council, Dance City and ARC Stockton but now fittingly is lost to time and memory. Whatever the group works on next should be closely followed by those interested in challenging and rewarding performance art.

Tensile Strength (or How to Survive at Your Wit’s End)

How big is your stress bucket? Holly’s play invites us to analyse and reduce our own everyday stresses, no matter what size our stress bucket may be.

I was drawn to Tensile Strength as soon as I read the synopsis. Its theme is something incredibly relevant in modern day society, stress. It’s about trying to work out why so many people feel it, sharing snippets of stories and scenarios, of what happens when our stress buckets get full and then on top of that the cat goes missing. I, myself, wanted to know the solution, and this insightful play reaches out in a cathartic way and reassures us that we are not alone.

“How do you let the stress out your stress bucket?” Holly enquires. For her it is a mint Aero. She explains that it is different for everyone; some people have large buckets and some people have small buckets. The rate at which the bucket fills with stress varies and how easy the bucket is to empty varies.

Holly performs the play beautifully, part story-telling, part audience engagement, but not in an intimidating way. The use of a signer to interpret the story throughout makes the story accessible. When Holly addresses the audience, the lights turn on us, it brings the worries and anxieties in the stories to the fore and helps us relate them to our own lives. They help us to stop, and think, and ‘breathe’.  We learn about three people, their stories intertwined throughout, taking us through their thoughts and feelings, fears and dreams. We meet a young graduate who is struggling to find a ‘proper job’ and still lives at home with her mum, a person who is asked to move out of their friend’s place after outstaying their welcome, a new father dealing with the worries of being a new parent and finding it all a bit much. There is so much expectation.

The different stories are played out right here, in Teesside, where the stories are being told. These people are not distant figures in distant parts of the country, they are us. They are us, our friends, our neighbours.

Light gameshow humour brings the audience into the story. It gives us control of the characters and helps us to analyse them and really get to know them. Multiple choice questions. Questions without answers. Leading us to imagine what each character is going to do. Are they going to do option a), option b), option c), d) all of the above or e) none of the above?

I could write so much about this play. Holly’s writing reminds me of a Radio 4 play, something soothing to listen to, that allows us to unravel the trials and tribulations of everyday life and to make sense of it all during a drive along the A19.  It is both insightful and therapeutic.

Now, where do I find the release for the tap on my stress bucket?

Blokes, Fellas, Geezers

“…the type of guy that can gan out and drink 14 pints, sleep wi’ 3 women and knock out 14 bouncers with half a punch all in one night. Somebody that just looks at ya and ya shit yourself…”

That’s the ideal version of a man moulded by ‘Fatha’ and all the fathas before him in this one-man show about inescapable working-class masculinity. It is an incredibly north-eastern show and clearly strikes a chord with audiences here. I was reminded of my Grandad throughout… his mannerisms, the old-fashioned but still – for the most part – well-being ideas about “looking after yaself” and then how they feed into the importance of being “a man” regardless of whether that’s what you want to be.

Writer-performer Jake Jarratt provides an immediately likeable performance with a cheeky twinkle and the hint of disdain at his surroundings. This semi-autobiographical piece draws on Jarratt’s experiences growing up in Crook, County Durham.

Jarratt is a NORTH sponsored artist. Blokes, Fellas, Geezers appeared in the Northumbria Theatre MA Students Final Showcase at Live Theatre on September 15th 2017 as a half-hour version so it has had plenty of time to grow, with the story and characters being noticeably expanded and improved.

“I once watched Chris Eubank Jr make Spaghetti Bolognese on Facebook Live. Looked rank.”

Boxing – one of the traditional working-class man’s routes of escape – offers no solace for Jarratt as he would rather perform onstage, something difficult to get across to his aggressively craggy-faced dad as we see in a section amusingly referencing Billy Elliot. Special note must be made of Jarratt’s character work, embodying a small troupe of characters very effectively.

The story is simple but strong. Jarratt, having given up boxing after one fight in order to do school plays, ultimately finds himself forced to fight the local big nutter in the pub – illustrated, as most things are, through an inventive use of drawn-on cardboard boxes – after a request for said nutter to move to let our narrator see ‘the foota’ gets misconstrued. Everyone in the immediate community believes Jarratt has to fight, most notably his Fatha, but he would rather not and therein lies the conflict.

“I bet Conor McGregor never has to eat burnt toast.”

It’s a well-structured and witty monologue – you’ll learn about macaques and fire alarms – with a number of memorable sections including the scene near the end where Jarratt is tutored by Fatha and dresses ‘accordingly’, the aforementioned boxing match (with its well-timed cries of desperation) and the comical mime of squeezing yourself in-between a large crowd of people at the pub. Many small gestures or actions linger in the mind too, such as Jarratt forcing himself to enjoy eating burnt toast – with its obvious symbolism of trying to fit in somewhere you feel uncomfortable – and the moment when two closed fists were slowly, unsurely formed above the piles of boxes.

Perhaps the ending felt a tad anti-climactic but it does wrap up the main focus of the narrative, that being the irreconcilable differences between Fatha and son. All in all, Blokes, Fellas, Geezers is a bold and honest debut show which is instantly relatable and exuberantly performed. Here’s to more of the same from Jake in the future.

Fawn and other works

Lizzie J Klotz is a dance and theatre artist based in Newcastle. Her triple bill, Fawn and other works performed at Dance City last month, blended old-ish work with brand new material and displayed her talents as both dancer and choreographer.

Opening piece To Suit dates from 2014 and featured original dancers Alys North and Charlie Dearnley. Lizzie describes it as “an exploration into animal courtship rituals, drawing comparison between humans and birds.” A recent trip to Malta allowed Lizzie, Alys and Charlie the time and space to update and augment the work for this performance. The result was a piece that connected with the audience from the start. The dancers were confident and impressive in roles they now know very well. The audience seemed to respond as one to this humorous, thought-provoking piece.  We relished listening and watching Alys and Charlie use their voices and bodies to comment on gender normative expectations within relationships.

The second part of the triple bill was film Dancing with my Dad, created in collaboration with Newcastle-based filmmaker Alex Ayre. This new 15 minute work celebrates the relationship between Lizzie and her father, David who is billed as both co-choreographer and performer. The film revels in their closeness and the way they communicate with each verbally and physically. They reminisce, enjoy each other’s company and play together. Two big kids on the screen highlight the child inside every member of the audience.

Dancing with my Dad is a beautiful, well-constructed film with the right mix of audio commentary and dance. The film is touching, for example when Lizzie’s feet rest on her Dad’s as he moves around the floor. What child hasn’t done the same when dancing with an adult?  The audience enjoyed Lizzie and David’s tribute to Dad Dancing: wigging out on the dance floor at a party.

As I watched the film I thought about the last dance I had with my Dad, less than two years before his death. We danced to daft 1950s track She Wears Red Feathers by Guy Mitchell at my parents’ Golden Wedding bash. Dancing with my Dad has emotional resonance for the bereaved and those living without a father figure as well as children of all ages planning presents and cards for this month’s Father’s Day. I think Ayres’ film is an everlasting Father’s Day present to David Klotz.

The evening ended with Fawn, a new solo work by Lizzie. The programme notes intrigued, telling us Fawn “explores the act of pleasing as a response to fear, threat and failure.” I found the 20 minute performance unexpected, clever, funny and unnerving. Every gesture and movement by Lizzie was matched by perfect lighting and sound. The input of artist Rosa Postlethwaite as Dramaturg was credited in the Q and A session afterwards. I’m not sure how much Rosa contributed to the piece but overall Fawn presents as seamless collaboration between onstage performer and offstage workers.

During the Q & A David Klotz described working with his daughter as an “inspiring process” which seems an apt description for this triple bill. It was inspiring to sit in with Lizzie’s home crowd in Dance City and feel the love and admiration for her and her creative collaborators. Where will they go next? I can’t wait to find out.

For more information about Lizzie and Alex Ayre

Door-to-Door Poetry

Rowan McCabe is not the first person to knock on someone’s front door. Council workers, canvassers and door-to-door sales folk have been knocking on millions of doors around the globe for years. Rowan styles himself as “The World’s First Door-to-Door Poet” and who am I to argue? It takes guts to stand on someone’s doorstep and admit to writing poetry.

Door-to-Door Poetry is both a show and a project. I’m writing this review of the show’s final performance in a short North East tour. The Door-to-Door Poetry project started back in October 2015 with a simple question: what do you think would happen if you knocked on a stranger’s door and offered to write them a poem?

Rowan’s Door-to-Door Poetry show is a mix of spoken word, comedy and theatre. It charts the development of his project from initial doorbell ringing near his home in Heaton to delivering the final poem in spring 2017. The project led Rowan from his neighbourhood to homes in Fenham, the Byker Wall, Bensham, Stockton-on-Tees and Darras Hall.

The Door-to-Door Poetry project is a strong idea with scope for growth and deserved the Arts Council funding it attained.  But I see a problem with the project.

As any academic or market researcher will tell you, the more information you gather, the more legitimate your findings will be. I used to work in local government and spent a year knocking on doors throughout an inner London borough.  We didn’t get to speak to everyone but we gathered a huge amount of data about residents’ recycling habits which shaped the council’s future waste minimisation projects. In short, our house calls made a difference.

I believe more time spent in the field (or should I say on the doorstep) would have enhanced both project and show. Extended fieldwork would have given Rowan a wider range of life stories to sink his writing gnashers into. I found the show’s content clever, funny and moving but yearned for him to dig deeper into the North East. Why not explore the wealth and poverty in our rural communities? How about some examples of households in Sunderland and Durham? The show’s content felt uneven and at times superficial compared to the cultural seams Rowan mined in his 2014 North East Rising show.

I’ve enjoyed watching Rowan perform his poetry on a variety of northern stages over the past seven years. He is a consistently brilliant performer and an accomplished page poet. I think he is the region’s brightest poetic star and that’s why I would have liked more poetry and less grumbling about the BBC in this show.

Rowan’s flawless performance in Door-to-Door Poetry is complemented by Peader Kirk’s direction, Maeve O’Neill’s production and the technical stage management of Paul Aziz. Team Door to Door work well together, allowing the audience to participate in Rowan’s journey and experience his joys and frustrations.

The Door-to-Door Poetry project is a wonderful concept and has the potential to spread nationwide and beyond but perhaps Rowan should recruit volunteers to assist with fieldwork? Or how about a Door-to-Door Poetry franchise? Now there’s an idea for Mr McCabe to riff on and produce new poems.

Rowan’s Door-to-Door Poetry show heads to Edinburgh for the Fringe Festival in August. I wonder if he’ll knock on a few doors in Scotland before the summer? Let’s go to the Fringe to find out.

For more information about the Door-to-Door Poetry project visit

Drag Me to Love

Sitting in the Studio in the Gala Theatre with pop anthems blaring, waiting for Bonnie and The Bonnettes to come on stage, set the scene for what was to come. Think neon wigs, songs that you sing in the shower, fantastic chemistry and a boatload of sparkle, Drag Me To Love is the ultimate feel good experience.

The year is 2009 and the destination is Doncaster. Cameron Sharp at 14 years old has found sanctuary as drag queen, Bonnie Love. This play is a coming of age story laced with themes of identity and acceptance – it is both hilarious and in parts melancholy. The story is told in chronological order, with the help of: classic/the best pop anthems; top tips about the world of drag; and last but absolutely not least (which I can’t stress enough) Hattie Eason and Becky Glendenning. The show is well rehearsed and seamless, the chemistry between the cast is incredible. Eason belting out Total Eclipse of the Heart, Sharp lip-synching along in true drag fashion and Glendenning throwing some sick moves with ribbon in the background had me both in awe and crying with laughter, which some would say is the perfect combination.

Drag Me to Love is short but sweet at only 45 minutes long, but you don’t leave feeling as if anything is missing. The story is autobiographical and beautifully written, it allows us a glimpse into the glamorous and competitive world of drag as well as the development of a young boy’s identity and acceptance of himself. Bonnie and The Bonnettes allow you to see snippets of the ways in which Cameron was able to keep this part of his life a secret for so long – doing extra jobs to up his pocket money and glass collecting in the drag club he first danced, then performed in. I really loved that how in an almost poetic way, everything comes full circle; Cameron has moved off to university after blocking out the part of his life that brought him such joy, but meets two girls who became his best friends and in turn became The Bonnettes.

I walked out of Drag Me to Love with a spring in my step and mentally preparing which pop classics I would be listening to and trying to sing along with on the drive home. Hand on heart, I enjoyed every minute of the show and I certainly wasn’t the only one – the standing ovation says far more about the performance than I could ever put into words.

Miracle! An Opera of Two Halves

While Black Friday raged through the towns and high streets of the north, I spent the dark and stormy evening enjoying a much more positive example of community spirit. Miracle! – two years in the making – is the operatic tale of Angelo (Jonathan Cooke), the seraph propelled down to Earth to help put Sunderland FC at the top of the league. Music was composed by Marcos Fernandez and conducted by Marco Romano while the libretto came from Newcastle-born David Almond, perhaps most famous for the novel Skellig.

The choral arrangements and orchestral music were stirring and exhilarating, accurately pinpointing and expressing the frequent feelings of ‘despair, rising hope and belief against the odds’, to quote the programme, but what came across most impressively was the sense of local pride and unity. With such projects there is always the danger that the result can seem provincial and of no relevance to a wider audience. This was keenly batted away by talk (well, singing) of the universal themes of love and passion. The experience of desperate longing and eventual gratification can be appreciated by anyone, football fan or not. Certainly the booming resonance of Cooke during a piece in which he repeated ‘What can I do?’ was wonderfully moving and evocative.

It is also worth noting soprano Caroline Kennedy whose Veronica, the down-to-earth love interest, was gorgeously quirky and projected a believable frisson with Cooke’s Angelo. Ian Priestley’s character work switching from the part of God to manager Larry Trench was very effective, without having looked at the programme I didn’t know he was playing both, but while his baritone was beautiful sadly I could only make out half of his lyrics from my seat near the back. Considering his twenty years’ experience, fully evident in the voice, this must have been an issue with the acoustics.

Rather samey video footage of football fans was deployed at the back (near a gate to represent The Stadium of Light) to little effect, but this does lead to a nice device involving angelic wings near the end. Director Annie Rigby along with production designer Gayle Playford created an intimate world of fans and players, vying against each other for the same goal within the tight space. At times the action felt repetitive and lost my interest but I’m unsure what else they could have done. The recurring appearances from the excellent and excitable youth choir certainly kept up the energy. Pew seating is never comfortable but thankfully – and cleverly – there were only forty-five minutes’ either side, without extra time. That may have been the extent of the wit as the lyrics themselves often failed to scale the heights of beatific poetry surely expected of opera.

Or perhaps it merely didn’t appeal personally because of my lack of interest in football… But it should have drawn me in, should it not? It is true that you, an audience member, must do a bit of work if you are to enjoy a work of art – that patience and understanding can pay dividends, leaving you with an experience that will follow you for the rest of your life, informing and enriching all your views on future works – but Miracle! did not seem to have that much to offer beneath the surface of gorgeous music, for the sustainment of which Music In The Minster must be praised and I hope they carry on for years to come. Ultimately, despite the fact it didn’t turn me on to opera or supporting Sunderland, the warm feeling left in the hearts of those assembled in church on that cold and dreary night is surely accomplishment enough.

You, Me and Everything Else

In 1977, space probe Voyager was launched into space. Its job was to explore our solar system, all the while taking photographs and readings to send back to NASA on Earth. Although this all sounds quite extraordinary to begin with, Voyager also had another mission – onboard is a golden record, which includes music from various cultures, greetings in different languages and sounds of the earth. The idea was for this to serve as a massive “hello” to whoever – or whatever – finds it.

You, Me and Everything Else is a theatre show based on the true-life story of this mixtape being put together before the launch. It follows the lives of those involved in the project and shows that a great deal of love, support, creativity and infidelity existed within the group. While the initiative brought a huge amount of excitement and positivity into the lives of some of its team members, it also managed to ruin the lives and relationships of others.

The story is certainly a complicated one, but Camisado Club – the theatre group behind the production – told it well. The small, intimate space of The Customs House studio theatre made the show seem quite private and as if, although we were playing witness to the turmoil within the lives of a group of strangers, we weren’t being too intrusive.

A particular notable aspect of the production was the set-up of the stage. The basic but functional set allowed the cast to move from one scene to another without little trouble and well-crafted props, such as a model of Voyager, provided sufficient context throughout.

The performance itself was also incredibly tight, with every actor and actress being exactly aware of what was going on at any one time. Despite the jumps between scenes and the somewhat complicated narrative, not one of them missed a beat, always delivering their lines perfectly on cue and with a great deal of commitment.

Voyager’s story might be a brilliant one in itself, but its the people aspect that makes it worth putting on a stage. Those behind the ‘mixtape of humanity’ had lives, jobs and relationships outside of the project. They all had their own personalities and tales to tell and that’s what You, Me and Everything Else is all about.

You, Me and Everything Else was, all in all, a fantastic show about an amazing venture. Exploring a side of a true story that little has been written about is a brave thing to do. However, Camisado Club stepped up to the challenge rather wonderfully and the show was a feat of their own that deserves much esteem.