I assume I’m still alive.

I’m writing this on Friday night whilst sat next to John-Luke Roberts who has yet to eat a single lemon. He is definitely already regretting his decision.


Back to all the fun.


Final Call

Well done to my brain for waking me up at 8:20am in a complete panic. It’s not like I needed a lie in or anything.


As it gets closer to 9pm, the more nervous and panicked I get. It’s the weirdest thing.

I’ve got everything I could need (except some tins of beans which I’m off to get in a bit) packed into my suitcase and rucksack in order to sustain us for more than 24 hours in the same room as about 150-200 other equally mental people.

It’ll be fine. Probably. is the site you need to be on from 9pm in order to join in all the fun.

(I might also be helping to live blog the event for Chortle, so have a check on there as well.)

See you all on the other side.


The Generosity Game.

It’s all been a bit of a weird day. Nice weird, but weird all the same.

So I managed to wake up in time to get my £7 Megabus to London. It was…fine. The plugs didn’t work, I was sat next to a guy who insisted on having his legs splayed wide for about 4 hours straight (nobody needs to air their penis that much), but I did manage to get a fair bit of sleep snuggled under my coat.

We were on time, despite constant pouring rain all the way from Plymouth to London, which meant I spent the majority of my time walking to the hotel worrying about my hair dye running onto my white shirt. If that’s not pathetic, I don’t know what is.

So yes, I got to the hotel at around 3:30 this afternoon, only to find a package addressed to me waiting on the dresser in my room.

I was so, so confused.

Nobody knew where I was staying, and I figured it wasn’t from the hotel, as they wouldn’t have put their own address on it, nor would they have sent it in the post. Especially not all the way from Manchester.

So once I’d reassured myself that it probably wasn’t a bomb, I opened the gift bag, only to be bemused, delighted and a bit teary at what I found inside.

It turns out that Late Rooms occasionally treat their customers to something through their “Magic Makers” scheme – be it a gift, or some vouchers or some flowers. It seems that it’s done out of the blue.

And it seems that I was lucky enough to be one of the recipients. 

Here’s where it got weird though. The gifts inside were entirely pug themed – there were some pug covered emery boards and a “Pugs Not Drugs”mug, which was just the best thing ever. Now, I can only conclude that they did a bit of stalking on my Twitter, since pugs are mentioned in my bio. Their only other options would have been tickets to a comedy show, a voucher to buy myself a nice cardigan, or sending a handsome man in a beard to my room this evening.

Oh. Now I think about it, I guess I missed out.

All jokes aside, it’s a really lovely thing to do, and even though it’s clearly a marketing thing, it’s the best one I’ve seen yet. (I’m also wondering if they paid for one of my nights at the hotel, as I paid £50 less than I was expecting. If they didn’t, it’s still a cause for celebration.)

It’s a bit odd being in London for an evening, and not doing anything but I think it’s probably for the best since the next two days are going to be INSANE.


Never Fold, Always Roll.


Here’s the problem with having a bloody lovely night out at the theatre the evening before you have to be up at 5:30am to get on a Megabus. Everything suddenly becomes more interesting and exciting compared to carefully organising clothes and putting them inside a suitcase.

Then there’s all the stuff you have to predict you might need at any point during the 27 Hour Show. There’s always something you forget. Can’t wait to find out what it is this time round.

London trip aside, we went to see Kneehigh’s production of Rebecca at the Theatre Royal tonight, and it was better than I could have imagined. Kneehigh are by far my favourite theatre company, and it was really fantastic to see another production so effortles and to an extent, magical. I cannot heap enough praise onto them.

And I was home in time to catch Capegate live. What more could a girl want?


The Muddy Waters.

My, my what a day.

All normal and dull (except for the fact that I bought a wide brimmed hat from Primark that it possibly wider than my shoulders) in the morning, followed by an evening of drama and intensity thanks to the SU elections once again being total bullshit.

Literally nothing changes.

Thankfully, there are a few more of us on side this year, so that exposè I was clamouring for last year might just have neatly fallen into our laps. We’ll see though.


Out of House Bounds.

I woke up this morning, looked out of my window and genuinely thought I’d slept through 10 months of 2015, and was in December.


Never On A Sunday

Nowadays it is exceptionally rare for me to have a Sunday off. Particularly as Sundays are the only day I’m actually contracted to work. Ahem. But I’ve got two in a row and I don’t know what to do with myself.


Your Money + Their Talent = Something Excellent.

It seems that all I do recently is tell you about things and then say you should give them your money.

Today isn’t any different.


Red (Nose) or Dead (Tired.)

This time next week, I’ll be sat in a room alongside some of my closest friends attempting not to fall asleep.


The Casual Viewer.

I’m one of those awful people that never watches the soaps unless something particularly dramatic’s happening.