15/02/2026
Recently I stood onstage accepting an award for our production of Grief Is the Thing with Feathers.
It began as a novel by the extraordinary a work of language, loss and wild imagination.
Through the courage and trust of , it became something physical. Human. Dangerous. Real.
And at the centre of it all was the astonishing .
What Toby did each night wasn’t performance.
It was surrender.
Ferocious. Fragile. Unrepeatable.
That production reminded me why I produce theatre.
Not for safety.
Not for ease.
Not for fairy floss.
But for the works that tremble in the hands of the audience.
For the stories that demand something of us.
For the artists brave enough to walk into the dark and hold the light steady.
Theatre, at its best, is not spectacle.
It is communion.
Tomorrow, we begin again.
Another work born of courage.
Another story that doesn’t flinch.
Another reminder that the stage can still shake a room.
Before Broadway.
Before the West End.
It starts here.
Grateful for collaborators who lead with integrity.
Grateful for institutions who back boldness.
Grateful for audiences who lean forward.
Onward.