“Is it funny?”he asks.

This when I tell him I’ve written a one woman show.

“It has elements of the ridiculous about it,” I hedge.

Partly because I’m in the habit of slipping quotes from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice into conversation. Partly because my sense of humour runs to word play, and plays best in response to a passing situation and not in the telling of jokes.

“No fucking jokes though.”

Just to be clear. Because I know a fair number of comedians and the frequency of fuck in a monologue seems to be some kind of measure that I fear I could never live up to.

The truth is the show is a head on confrontation with my own mortality. Which is kind of tragic when you think about it. Given how fearfully and wonderfully we’re made (bastardized biblical quote) and how much time and money I’ve put into self improvement over the years.

Writing and performing this show is a rite of passage, because I’ve reached the point in life where I can see both ends and the middle all at the same time. And I’m the kind of person that needs to make sense of it all.

It’s totally original, mind bending, inspirational. A cosmic quest. The unfolding of a personal myth. Part memoir, part poem, part physics lesson. Did I mention that I sing?

I hope you come to see it. Given the topic I can promise you’ll find it relevant. And it would mean the world to me.

Yours with creativity and imagination,

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