I wanted to put something amazing where you wouldn’t expect to find it. To take the first moments of the morning and fill them with something silly and sad and wonderful. Something audacious in its scope and scale. Something to make you laugh and cry and wonder before the world even knows you’re awake. Something to stuff your hearts full and send you out, into the day and into the world, wet eyed and open mouthed. Daniel Kitson

And that’s exactly what he does. I laughed deep, belly laughs and cried tears of genuine sadness. I walked out of the theatre into the cool morning air buzzing with optimism, slightly bewildered by the emotional beating I’d taken.

It’s Always Right Now revolves around two central characters and their contrasting lives from birth to death, the story built around a series of specific moments, each represented by a glowing, randomly suspended lightbulb in a delightfully minimal stage-set.

His previous theatre pieces I’d seen, 66a Chuch Road and The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church, were very good indeed but heavily nostalgic and overly sentimental at times. They seemed to miss the vigour and giddy enthusiasm of his stand up. On It’s Always Right Now the balance was there. Every moment tinged with sadness was counteracted with some punchy laughter, every time it veered towards wistful the next juncture brought abrasive observation; for every section of poignant narrative, a ‘breast monster’ joke.

I remember seeing his stand-up several years ago and he would describe exactly how he was going to make you laugh before proceeding to do so. Here, he has taken this level of control into the theatre. Daniel Kitson pulls familiar heartstrings, but he is a master storyteller and an incredible observationist.