Molly Taylor is a likeable Liverpudlian actress who enjoys strange relationships. The upshot is this hour-long autobiographical monologue that can come across as (upmarket) chick lit for anoraks.
In fact, it is rather better than that makes it sound. This is really a chat in two halves. The first explores a temporarily successful love affair that the actress enjoyed in 2009 and counterpoints this with a couple of other morose would-be relationships that are not fully realised and eventually sink out of sight.
For fringe regulars, this also becomes a detective story as they will recognise one of the characters and his own one-man Fringe show.
For irrational reasons, Molly then starts to track down (the word stalk also comes to mind) purveyors of public transport.
Most companies (and dear Boris Johnson) politely ignore her but eventually, she does get to visit a couple of bus drivers, now seemingly hell-bent on using the meetings to develop a show.
Miss Taylor was not helped by what must be one of the worst spaces on the Fringe. This Studio in the newly and expensively refurbished Assembly Rooms has bad sight lines for 90% of the audience and, to compound the problems, leaks loud music from the show next door.