It’s not often that a protagonist’s inner monologue is cast as their chief antagonist. Most of the time, internal commentary seems to be used by writers as a bit of a cheat code to reveal exactly what the hero is thinking. That, or to demonstrate just how clever they are, perpetuating the fantasy that if we could all just say what’s on our mind then we could win the day.
But in My Normal F**king Sex Life, the debut play from writer and actor Tori Lyons, that inner voice is the story’s core villain. A relentless nag, forever scrutinising and belittling her.
It’s one of those ideas that feels simultaneously original but completely obvious, because of course, the voice in our head is so rarely our greatest champion, more frequently, it’s our cruellest critic.
The story follows Tori playing a version of herself, attending a sexual health clinic after contracting her first STI from a man named Danny Chickens. I know. As elevator pitches go, it’s pretty damn strong.
When Tori’s friends notice from her phone location that she’s at the hospital and start asking questions, she’s embarrassed into silence. But this shame gradually gives way to something far deeper and unearths trauma she has spent years trying to repress.
We travel with her as she dives through memories of nights out, bad decisions and moments of complete turmoil, drifting fluidly between past, present and future. But the play utilises this fractured narrative structure more intelligently than most. Where other dramas shift between timelines as a convenient storytelling device, Tori retreats into certain memories to avoid confronting others. In doing so, the structure itself becomes part of the conflict, transforming the play into one big, thrilling chase with Tori relentlessly hunted by her own subconscious.
Lyons is captivating. She radiates warmth, wit and charisma, immediately putting the audience at ease. You hang on her every word and somehow trust that whatever comes out next will be just as compelling. She has impeccable comic timing and gives an animated, but authentic performance. She also navigates the play’s darker emotional territory with real credibility, never risking whiplash between comedy and drama.
Much of this is enhanced by assured direction from Eleri B. Jones, who clearly has a firm grasp on the tone, maintaining a steady pace that never stalls. There’s also a sense that the dynamics of Lyons’ performance have been refined to ensure nothing is pushed too far too soon. Both the emotions and the jokes are allowed to build organically, meaning that there’s always room for escalation rather than exhausting their impact too early.
The set, designed by Delyth Evans, is highly effective, grounding the action in a recognisable waiting room that can be seamlessly transformed into various locations from nightclubs to swimming pool changing rooms, all with the help of immersive lighting, video and projections from KJ and Danny Muir.
A particularly nice touch is the digital clock in the waiting room, which displays the different years Tori moves through as she travels back and forth in time. Images ranging from Muppets character Gonzo to a chilling appearance from Huw Edwards add to the play’s dreamlike, disorientating atmosphere.
Wonderful compositions by Eadyth Crawford swell through the space with a real sense of catharsis, further elevated by Lyons’ movement, with impressive choreography from Laura Meaton.
Lyons’ script is as witty as it is heartbreaking, wonderfully silly and yet frequently profound. Despite its sporadic shifts between years and locations, you always know where you are. This is writing which is structurally sound, built around a simple question of whether or not Tori will tell her friends the truth, and in doing so, whether she can be honest with herself.
Lyons makes a constant effort to avoid these themes becoming overly self-important. She balances the heavier moments with gags and self-deprecation, never diminishing poignancy but ensuring it doesn’t cross over into indulgence. It’s an endearing quality, but also cleverly mirrors her character’s greatest flaw.
Tori allows her internal monologue to diminish her suffering, sometimes with humour, sometimes with outright malice. This recorded voice echoing throughout the space always berates her for overreacting, keen to point out that other people ‘have it worse’ than she does.
This is a powerful articulation of how humour and a commitment to being ‘down to earth’ can quietly evolve into a form of emotional self-destruction. And it’s Lyons’ confrontation with this that provides an impactful conclusion which asks us, the audience, to consider who we might become if we choose to stop listening to that snide voice in our heads.
This truly is a wonderful production. Fun, intelligent and full of heart.
My Normal F**king Sex Life is playing at The Riverfront, Newport till 23 May 2026.