In my early twenties, freshly single, wildly naive, armed with my complete works of Shakespeare and a questionable taste in men, I moved to London after having worked in Paris. I was thrown headfirst into the chaotic world of modern dating — a world of swiping, small talk, overpriced cocktails, and the occasional existential crisis. Honestly, it felt like the play started writing itself.

At drama school, during a playwriting module led by Tanya Ronder, a scene poured out of me – a particularly grim date with a charming human red flag. I called it Disposable. It was raw, messy, honest — a woman trying to make sense of wanting someone who very clearly didn’t deserve her. To my surprise, and in a way, to my sadness, it resonated. Despite the sprinkling of satire, along with a healthy amount of ‘F bombs’, no one could deny the dark undertone of what the scene was saying. Society hasn’t quite got dating right. With 82% of women over 18 having been sexually harassed and 1 in 5 male suicides stemming from issues in a relationship… how are we getting it so wrong? What conversation are we missing?

Dating is funny, painful, thrilling, and occasionally humiliating. It also makes you question everything: your self-worth, your boundaries, and what it actually means to be too cool to care. But underneath the ghosting, the love bombing and the “let’s keep it casual” texts, there’s a very human need: connection.

Five years later, here we are — Disposable is making its debut run at The Union Theatre this November. I still can’t quite believe it’s left the safety of my laptop. I’m endlessly grateful to everyone who’s helped me bring this to life — and perhaps surprisingly, but most specifically, I am grateful to my ex. To the man who showed me that healthy relationships do exist, who showed me you can be seen, respected and completely, ‘un-cool-y’ smitten. A relationship that for a moment, almost made me question the relevance of Disposable…

Almost.