In his publicity Tim Honef describes his 2026 Fringe show thus: “Last year Tim Honnef received a cardboard box from an unknown sender. It contained an enormous handwritten book, a pink flash drive, and a firm but friendly threat. This is the tale of what happened next…” Or is it?

He asks, at the outset if we will come with him. Believe in him. His truth. Yes, we will accord. But it’s all bullshit. Or is it? Because, frankly, you can’t believe a single word this engaging Dutch storyteller tells you. Or can you?

It’s a play, within a play, within a story, within a dream, within a breakdown, within a memoire within a…

It’s quite difficult to pin down exactly what Tim Honef is trying to say. It’s quite certain, though, that Salvador Dali and MC Escher would love this play. But Kafka is the one that most springs to mind, because this is an absolutely convoluted and absurdist banger of a play.

Fish as carrots, named after elephants. Wizards as change-makers of familial life, that lead into deep holes, maybe even worm holes of labyrinthine complexity. There’s a gold star to anyone that emerges with the plot intact.

Despite its complexity, this is amazingly engaging stuff. Honnef sits alone on stage with a fishbowl and a radio to help him describe his life story. But it isn’t his. The radio is actually his on-stage sound and plays his gentle musical sound bed, plus snippets of conversation that add depth to his one man performance Layer upon layer of absurdist sidebars lead his audience down alleyways, but he has enough recovery moments to reel us back in.

It’s a deeply personal show about truth. His family are very dear to him. Not least his surrealist Grandfather who lives in a study, in a cabinet, in a shed, in an imagined universe. It’s very evident, when he drops a Trump bomb, subtly but purposefully, that the world is verging on the absurd. Because lies are now commonplace. What news is fake? All of it? Maybe. Is Tim’s story a lie or a truth? That’s the core of his idea. We live in times when we can’t believe a single thing anyone says. This is a good way to call it out.

He’s a brilliant storyteller, although he could slow down a touch. It’s great absurdist theatre that works the brain cells long after curtain down.

This Play Shouldn’t Exist (and I was Supposed to Be on Holiday) is on at Daisy at Underbelly, Bristo Square until Fri 28 Aug 2026