Hibernation season has ended for Binge Fringe. We’ve all been snuggled up for these past few winter months together in a small cave somewhere between Bradford and the M1. It’s been comfortable and cosy, but I’m starting to get a bit sick of Mike’s heavy breathing in the night and listening to Jasper talk about fucking Brexit.
So we’re heading down the M1, turning onto the A421 for Bedford, pulling up at the train station, hopping aboard a Thameslink service and landing in the beautiful coastal metropolis of Eastbourne. Oh shit, we missed our stop. We’re supposed to be in Brighton. Balls.
Luckily, Brighton Fringe doesn’t start until May, so we have a few months to rectify our mistake.
That’s right! Ya bois are back to do some more brilliant, semi-sarcastic, semi-pretentious reviews of beer, comedy and theatre. And we want to hear from you! Are you a performer? A Brighton Fringe aficionado? Just someone who likes a pint and a good show?
Give us recommendations! And drop us a message so we can have a pint together.
Editor. Craft beer fiend. Scriptwriter. Amateur theatre reviewer.