Father and I saw a nice little show last night. It was chosen not entirely arbitrarily. We sat in Chocolate Soup at the weekend inbetwixt shows, squished onto a couple of seats alongside what looked like father, mother and grown daughter.

Daughter was clearly in a show. Parents were up to visit for the weekend. Daughter darted off somewhere. Mother said fondly (clearly she'd been listening listening in to our conversation) was I a reviewer? I explained the circumstance. She said fondly that daughter was in a show that they were going to see that night and they thought it would be very good. They hoped it would be very good in fact as they were paying for her to go through drama college so hoped it was worthwhile. They explained when and where it was.

So when it came to Tuesday and you have the whole of the Fringe (theatre) to choose from, it seemed only fair to go to the one remaining show that I had a connection with, albeit the feeblest of connections.

Called Cross Purpose and on at C cubed, this play was based on a story by Camus. Apparently one of his most important works. I have never heard of it but that, as any of my good friends will tell you, means nothing. It did, characteristically, revel in the pointless absurdity of life.

And it was nicely done. Lovely opening with the daughter pacing about looking anxious and the mother stirring stirring at a tea cup. The real life daughter who played the daughter fittingly was excellent actually. A really lovely performance of a woman sent bitter over time. (An unfamiliar character to me, as my good friends will tell you.) The others were less convincing. A nice bumbling fellow was a bit too nice and bumbling. The mother was, god love her, despite convincing white make-up, far too young. The young pretty wife of the bumbling man was slightly too angst-ridden and sweet for my liking. The silent servant was magic in his braces with his single line. But the daughter stole the show.

A serendipitous outcome.