It’s very hard to tell when this comedy show starts and when it ends. There’s a sort of prologue and an epilogue that could be scripted or from the heart. Brooke is reliving a New Year from her past, and making it part of her campaign to have a better future, and she wants us to help her.

You’d have a heart of stone if you didn’t want to help her. There’s something so positive and so vulnerable about her that every funny joke comes with an air of sadness. It’s structured like a pitch, and is delivered at such a breakneck speed that it’s probably a two-hour show packed into one. Show Brooke has been wronged by Disney. Popular Culture, with its ethos of follow-your-dream, and triumph-over-adversity, has left her unprepared for adult life.

Part of her campaign for a better future is becoming President. It’s not clear what her politics would be, but she couldn’t be worse than what we have so it doesn’t matter much. There’s a bit about rebranding January, because we all start New Year’s Day wrecked from New Year’s Eve, convinced that if we don’t start our new good routines then the year is cursed. Brooke wants to start New Year on February the second, which seems like a good idea.

She rushes through horrific sounding things with a super bright joy that only just about masks how painful they must have been. She optimistically looks for love and meets a potential Mr Right when she’s wrapped-up in child-like winter clothes, a fashion choice that she calls toddler-core (it’s great to finally have a name for something so millennial). She spends time on apps, she lives by her horoscope, she never, ever thinks of dismantling the system. She will have a year of abundance, she will make Disney work, she will have the fairy-tale.

And the audience is left hoping she does. That this time, maybe this time, she’ll be lucky.

‘22: Brooke’s Time Space Sequins‘ has finished its Fringe run