By Grace Hatchell- I am currently considering staging my own living room production for the Village… though I have warned everyone that cue management may be “interpretive at best.”
My Son’s A Queer (But What Can You Do?) returns to the West End for a strictly limited run at the Apollo Theatre from 16 September to 3 October 2026. Written and performed by Rob Madge and directed by Luke Sheppard, the award-winning show celebrates the joy, chaos and love of growing up queer — and this time, it’s taking its final bow.
Now I’ll tell you something — I’ve delivered plenty of letters about big West End returns, grand openings, all-singing, all-dancing affairs… but this one felt a bit different when it landed in me satchel.
Quieter.
Warmer.
Like summat you hold onto for a second longer before passing it on.
Because this isn’t just a show coming back.
It’s a goodbye.
And not a dramatic, curtain-slamming, storming-off kind of goodbye either. More like the end of a really good night, when nobody quite wants to leave but you know it’s time.
My Son’s A Queer (But What Can You Do?) started, of all places, in a living room. Not with a budget or a big creative team, but with imagination — the kind that has you dragging your family into it whether they like it or not. Costumes half-working, cues going wrong, somebody pushing the scenery in the wrong direction… and somehow, it still being perfect.
Rob Madge, aged just twelve, staging a full Disney parade at home for their Grandma — playing Mary Poppins, Ariel, Mickey Mouse, Belle — while their Dad tried (and failed) to keep everything running smoothly. Mum getting characters mixed up. Props not quite behaving. Absolute chaos.
And yet… Grandma had a lovely time.
I mean, if that’s not theatre, I don’t know what is.
What’s quite something is how that spark — that slightly wonky, joy-filled beginning — didn’t just stay in the living room. It grew. From the Turbine Theatre to Edinburgh, across a national tour, into the West End, and even over to New York. Awards followed, audiences fell in love with it, and somewhere along the way, that little home-made show became something that meant a great deal to a lot of people.
And now, it’s coming back one last time. Not because it’s run out of steam — far from it — but because some stories know exactly when to take their bow.
There’s something rather lovely about that, I think.
The show itself is a celebration — of identity, of family, of being exactly who you are even when the world doesn’t always know what to do with you. It’s full of humour, honesty, and those moments that make you laugh one second and catch your breath the next. The kind of storytelling that doesn’t feel like it’s trying too hard, because it doesn’t need to.
It just tells the truth.
And that’s probably why it’s connected with so many people.
Behind it all is a remarkable creative team, with Luke Sheppard directing — fresh from some of the biggest musical successes around — and a group of collaborators helping bring that original living room magic onto a West End stage without losing what made it special in the first place.
But for all the success, all the awards, all the sold-out runs… the heart of it still feels the same.
A young person putting on a show.
A family getting involved.
A bit of chaos.
A lot of love.
I couldn’t help but think, reading through it, of the little “productions” we’ve all put on at some point. Dragging a chair across the room to use as a prop. Making someone sit and watch whether they wanted to or not. Taking it all very seriously, even when it went completely wrong.
That feeling never really leaves, does it?
So this final run at the Apollo Theatre — just 23 performances — feels like a chance to go back to that. To see where it all started, and how far it’s come. To laugh at the chaos and maybe recognise a bit of yourself in it along the way.
Because not every show gets to choose its ending.
But this one does.
And it’s choosing to go out exactly how it began — with heart, with humour, and with a story that was always meant to be shared.
If you’ve been meaning to see it, this really is your moment. One last hurrah before the costumes are packed away and the curtain comes down for good.
And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from years of deliveries, it’s this:
The most special things don’t always arrive with the biggest fanfare.
Sometimes, they start in a living room… and end on a West End stage.
Grace x
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