Fleabag was the first play I went to see at the Fringe this year, my playwright friend Lisa bought the tickets after hearing it was good. She also bought us tickets for something SO awful that we had to walk out of it, it was totally dire, something from the Royal Court’s writing program about a post-apocolyptic hotel where everyone spoke in insipid cliches, Christ it was terrible. We were not the only walkouts but for some reason the thing still got good reviews. The lesson is you can’t trust reviews at Fringe time.
HOWEVER. Fleabag, a one woman monologue written and performed by Phoebe Waller-Bridge, was just a wonderful first play to see in Edinburgh this summer, made me think it was totally worth it giving up those tickets to see DanRads who would probably be rubbish anyway (turned out he was amazing, boo!). She was an excellent story-teller, the performance and delivery was so good when I remember it I remember the specific scenes, the café, the train journey, the characters, the outfits she was wearing, yet Waller-Bridge was sitting on a stool dressed in black for the whole performance. This is talent.