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I headed to Suffolk last weekend. Not to visit friends, not to swim in the sea and not even to hang out in a beach hut. No, I went to attend a Theatre Festival of all things – The High Tide Festival, if you will.

We’ve all heard of the Edinburgh Festival, but Suffolk? It hardly seems to be the theatrical epicentre of the UK. But hang on a minute, let’s not dismiss Suffolk too quickly – because its annual High Tide festival has got everyone talking.

Upon arrival at the festival – in the abyss of East Anglia, I met up with my parents. My mother was buoyant with enthusiasm, my father a little sceptical, (he’s not much of a thesp.) Without even a moment to gather ourselves, we were whisked into an auditorium to watch the preview of a new play by Beth Steel: ‘Ditch.’

It was midday, the sunshine was blazing outside, and I was sitting with my parents watching an apocalyptic play in Suffolk. It’s not the most normal way to spend your Saturday.

When the drama concluded, we left the theatre a little shakily, and gathered in the main foyer. Just at that moment, my eyes fell upon a very sweet, cheeky looking Jack Russell. I bounded up to the mutt and gave it a good scratch. I then noticed the dog owner’s eccentric shoes.

My eyes ran past the dandy-esque brogues, up a pair of emerald green courdoroy trousers, up a flamboyantly striped chemise until they settled upon the face of none other than Kevin Spacey. Yes, the Hollywood filmstar of American Beauty acclaim was staring down at me as I was scratching his dog’s belly.

I know it’s desperately uncool to be star-strck , but I could not help but be blown away by the fact that in this tiny insignificant village I was patting Kevin Spacey’s dog. Un-bloody-belieavable!

As the day continued, and we watched more performances, I bumped into Kevin at every turn. Every play I went to see, he was there;  every time I sat in the cafe, he was there; every time I went outside – he was there.

Kevin and I are definitely friends now.

Moral of the story: Don’t underestimate Suffolk, you never know who’s dog you might bump into.

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My latest marketing venture has not been the most orthodox.

Over the past few weeks I’ve been spreading positive vibes about the latest and greatest event to hit London: ‘Porn – The Musical.’

It’s no easy feat targeting an audience that loves musicals but also happens to have a penchant for pornography – but I have tried my very best. The efforts obviously paid off, for when I finally saw the show at the tiny ‘Theatre 503‘ (situated above a grimy pub in Battersea), I had to fight for my seat.

The story starts on the island of Malta, where a heartbroken Stefan emigrates to LA, with hopes of making it big “like Harrison Ford or Jesus”. Mugged on arrival, Stefan is rescued by a porn princess who, looking and sounding like Dolly Parton, announces: “My name is Sanddy with a double D.”

The seemingly wholesome Sanddy initiates Stefan into the adult-movie business, where, under the direction of one Martin Scoresleazy he proves an unexpected  success.

The depiction of the sordid world of pornography is perhaps a little predictable, but with appearances from the likes of Dr Johnny Long, with his PHD (Particularly Huge Dick) it’s hard to complain.

After such a promising start for the young lothario, events take a turn for the worse. Sanddy and Stefan’s blossoming romance is put on hold as Martin’s studio faces bankruptcy and a potent STD spreads amongst the actors…

Prudes need not be scared, this performance is warm rather than racing hot.

Offensive? No. Faintly ridiculous? Yes. Belly achingly funny? Definitely! Whatever the critics say, this is a musical not to be missed.