'Do you ever feel like this?' Lowri Evans asks us from half-way up a stepladder, wearing high heels, goggles, a hard hat and a backless party dress.
We laugh at the absurdity of it all before realising, actually, we know exactly what she means.
Her one-woman show, The Secret Life of You and Me, is full of well-judged moments like this. It is funny and charming without being cloyingly sentimental.
The performance is a loose ramble through Evans's life. Her recollections veer from giddy days in the park as a ten-year-old, through frustrated loves, to the realisation that turning 30 can be a bit of a let-down.
Disarming and charming, Evans and her infectious personality keep us interested through the sweet, if at times slightly thin, canvas of her life.
She is helped along by an array of simple and effective stage devices – an overhead projector, slides from a diary and the occasional photograph.
The lo-tech embellishments - bits and pieces as if from a scrapbook - are an ideal fit for Evans's storytelling.
However, this easy, unpretentious style can fall victim to itself. Evans's backstory is endearing and easy to relate to, but has only glimpses of greatness.
We are bemused rather than gripped, we nod and smile rather than weep. The Secret Life of You and Me is much more a ride on the teacups than a rollercoaster.
This is as it ought to be, and Evans is so big-hearted that even in its slower moments the show does not drag. Her homespun wisdom passes a pleasant hour – and we could all do with a few of those.