A year is a long time to ‘fill your hole’. The hole in Bryony Kimmings’ life is massive and her existence in the city feeds it through consumerism, an approach that does not satisfy her soul.

But opportunity knocks on her door when she meets Will, a new man in her life, an ecologist as it happens, and a man with a dim view on consumerism, microplastics, and CO2 emission. So when Bryony and her son move in with him and his daughter in the East Sussex desert, miles from nowhere (well 34 miles from Brighton actually) she can now fill her hole with worthy, natural things.

And so she embarks on an autobiographical tale of life in the countryside (‘This story is rural as fuck,’ she tells us) where clothing brands like Toast are the only acceptable dress code and her consumerism has to be limited to Vinted.

The garden has its own personal bog which Will warns everyone is extremely dangerous. Maybe a Bog Witch lives there. Only one way to find out, join the local coven and get in tune with witchy things. She even adopts a black cat that they name Mr Tubbs (cos it’s fat). All set.

The story unfolds in four seasons (beautifully animated on a vast, white backdrop behind an equally vast, white stage with a pile of bog muck in its middle that gradually expands as the show progresses) as Kimmings attempts to settle in to country life. It’s no spoiler to say that this is a challenge.

To prepare for living in the countryside Kimmings watches The Wicker Man which proves to be the perfect induction as her new home plays out true to the folk horror’s playbook. Ghastly goings on, the aforementioned coven of witches and strange activities like Maypole dancing come to be features of her East Sussex homestead.

Kimmings is an exquisitely gifted story teller, with more rug pulls than a day in a Marmaris bazaar. Her twisting of language, her fourth wall breaks, her love of meta set ups, her daft props – including a fleet of wooden farm equipment – all add up to a melange of theatrical styles that is frankly mind-boggling. Throw in truly hilarious songs, a ridiculous recorder sequence (the ones you learn to play in primary school), and the result is about six shows in one.

At the core are Kimmings’ very funny delivery, superb costumes, excellent sound and lighting. Only one word in the English language can sum the whole mess up: bonkers. But brilliantly so.

Kimmings is entirely relatable, even if she’s starring in an 80 minute folk horror acid trip. The absolutely mental finale wraps up her year as an extra in Countryfile and Midsommar to such a level of excess as to leave the audience spellbound.

This is unique, extraordinary theatre that thrills: whether you understand all or none of it.

Bog Witch is at Traverse 1 at Traverse Theatre until Sun 30 Aug 2026