Have a Gander at The Edinburgh Festival Fringe 2026 – Deluge


Have you ever cried so much you thought you could flood a house? Or what if grief isn’t just crying in a dark room, but jam multiplying on every shelf; a Komodo dragon that won’t leave; holes in the roof that refuse to stay fixed? That’s the world of Deluge, built from over 40 interviews I did with strangers about what they’re actually grieving – including the quiet stuff, with no clean ending.

The idea itself came from something I said to a friend after a break-up: “If I could count all my thoughts in litres and add everything I’d cried, I could flood a house”. I said it and thought: that’s my next show. It’s magic realism, it’s a comedy; told through physical theatre, live music, projection and a bit more. It is about loss and the strange ways we cope when life falls apart.

I came to Andrea Maciel (director) with material – writing, interviews, concepts, half-formed ideas – and we improvise around it in the studio until images and more metaphors start showing up. Then I’d go home, write more drafts, come back and rewrite through more improvisation. It’s co-creation, really: the show grows by playing with the material rather than forcing a shape too early. Maddie Maycock’s been involved for the last year or so as associate director, co-creating bits too.

An Arts Council England-funded R&D phase early on let me build a proper team, get some rehearsal time, and bring other people on board at the start of the project – to name a couple of the great artists involved: Lily Rae on sound design and Anouk Van der Zee on costume


The show has evolved so much that looking back almost feels like looking at a different piece, so it’s genuinely great to be back with it. Even people who’ve seen it before should get a different experience this time round.

Maybe it’s the mix of things that it is. DELUGE is a comedy, but it doesn’t stay in one lane. It’s physical theatre, it has dance, music and storytelling all woven together. I like that mix where you laugh, then catch yourself: wait, can I laugh at this? Why not.


I keep making shows inspirec by interviews with strangers; this is the second one built this way, and the third will be too. I suspect my mum being a psychoanalyst has something to do with it.

I also love magical realism as a form because it allows inner experiences to take a physical shape. It creates a bridge between what we experience internally and the world around us. It stretches reality rather than leaving it behind, creating a space where the real and the surreal can exist together. For me, that’s what makes it so relatable, it has one foot in reality and one foot in the surreal. And Andrea and I found a shared language through the metaphorical worlds we each brought into the process.

That grief holds contradictions – one moment you’re laughing, the next you’re on the floor, the next you’re laughing at yourself for being there. I’d like people to leave with that mix intact, without it resolving into one feeling.


Watching: anyone curious enough to sit with a Komodo dragon and a leaking ceiling with no idea where the story’s headed, and anyone who has a habit of laughing at the wrong moment.

Not watching: anyone who wants to know how they’ll feel before they feel it, or anyone allergic to jam.

Not everything is as urgent as you think it is… that’s good to remember. Watching other artists do strange, brave things onstage tends to be exactly what recharges me, so I’ll be doing plenty of that.



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