From France to the Fringe: The Road to Chrome Yellow

Your show is about a 650-mile walk. Had you ever done anything similar? Would you ever do it again?

My walk across France was the first time I’d ever attempted something so extreme. A few months later, I ran my first 50k ultra marathon - without ever having run a marathon before. I became obsessed with testing my limits, seeing how far I could push myself, sending myself deep into the so-called “pain cave”, and then emerging the other side even more grateful for my body and my breath. The only thing that comes close to slogging across a country, really, is trying to survive a full run at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.

In your show you read excerpts from your travel journal. Do you have a favourite or standout quote from the journal?

“Just relax, take your time, remember to breathe, take it all in, have faith”. That mantra came to me in a moment of despair, and it became a reminder to stop, be present, and not panic about the road ahead. It still resonates with me every time I read it - it’s like a message written to my present self. On stage, it tethers me to the story, the words, and the experience. It reminds me why I’m there and why this journey means so much.

You’ve previously done stand-up comedy, and now are performing in theatre. Do you prefer one over the other, and why?

I left stand-up because I didn’t feel like I was saying anything of value. I’d learned how to “work a room” to the point where it felt manipulative: if I could get the audience on side, they’d laugh at anything. That made the experience hollow, and I ended up hiding behind a persona I didn’t like - someone who’d say anything just to get a laugh. At the time, I told myself I’d return to stand-up when I had something more important to say. Chrome Yellow actually began as that return, but it naturally evolved into theatre. I can’t really compare the two disciplines - there’s so much more weight in theatre, but sometimes I don’t want to carry that weight, and I find myself yearning for the immediacy of stand-up. Maybe one day I’ll return.

You’ve spoken about your sobriety journey. Is there enough space for the sober community at the Fringe?

I wish I could say there was - and maybe there is somewhere, but I’ve yet to find it. So much of the entertainment culture is built around a bar. Every venue is wired to supply alcohol, as though audiences couldn’t possibly sit through an hour without it. Comedy especially seems tied to this boozy haze. I don’t begrudge people for drinking, but I’d love to see attitudes shift so alcohol isn’t treated as such a necessary staple of the arts. At the moment it definitely puts me off seeing certain shows late at night, when the atmosphere feels less about entertainment and more about the drinking culture surrounding it.

You mention a “peculiar obsession” with the colour yellow. Can you describe what drew you to yellow?

The scientific explanation is probably to do with cone-cell sensitivity in the eye, slight genetic variations that make yellow appear more vivid than other colours. But that’s the boring answer. The better version is that I was drawn to yellow in a way that seemed to transcend the senses. I started having recurring dreams of yellow light, even visions of yellow during meditation. For someone who had always been completely detached from spiritual ideology, that was unsettling. Yellow became something I wrestled with: a colour that felt bigger than me, almost spiritual, and yet impossible to pin down. That tension runs right through the show.

If you weren’t performing/creating theatre, what would you be doing?

Making something with my hands. I’m a compulsive maker - whether it’s sewing, painting, or, more recently, whittling. I foraged some windfall ash after the recent storm and carved it into a spoon, which I adore. Wherever I am, I’ll always be crafting something from whatever I can find. It’s the one constant that runs alongside the theatre-making.

Chrome Yellow is at ZOO Southside at 12:25pm until 24th August.