By Grace Hatchell
I have seen many ambitious things arrive in my satchel over the years. Musicals with revolving sets. Fringe shows performed in cupboards. Press releases promising “life-changing theatre” from a room above a pub where the carpet has seen things.
But Carys Jeffrey Evans has gone one better.
She does not simply want to perform at the Edinburgh Fringe. Oh no. That would be far too modest. Carys also wants to represent the UK at Eurovision.
And frankly, I admire the ambition
Her debut show, Carys Should Be the UK’s Next Eurovision Entry, arrives at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe as what I can only describe as a glittery two-birds-one-stone operation. One woman. One Fringe debut. One dream of storming Europe’s most chaotic, glorious, emotionally unstable song contest. Somewhere, a wind machine has started spinning out of respect.
The show is described as a heartfelt and hilarious tribute to Eurovision, which is quite right, because Eurovision is not merely a song contest. It is a geopolitical fever dream in sequins. It is key changes, smoke machines, neighbourly tension, and someone from a country you cannot confidently locate on a map giving twelve points to a song performed by a man dressed as a haunted disco ball.
In other words, it is art.
Carys Should Be the UK’s Next Eurovision Entry is part comedy, part musical, part memoir and part persuasive essay. I do enjoy that. Not enough shows admit they are basically trying to win an argument. This one seems to be very open about it. Carys is not just entertaining us; she is building a case. The BBC should watch its back. A woman with a Fringe slot, a dream and a petition is not to be underestimated.
The show has the energy of putting on a performance in the living room with your mate in order to convince your parents to let you have a sleepover. Except in this case, the parents are the BBC, and the sleepover is the chance to represent the United Kingdom on Europe’s largest and most gloriously chaotic stage before being judged by millions of people, several national juries, and at least one auntie on Facebook who “doesn’t get it”.
Honestly, same.
Created for both Eurovision fanatics and casual enjoyers, the show promises an afternoon designed to win audiences over so thoroughly that they may find themselves signing Carys’ petition to the BBC on the way out. Which is bold. I have left shows with a flyer, a badge, a mild existential crisis and once, for reasons never fully explained, a sachet of instant coffee. But a Eurovision campaign petition? That is Fringe marketing with a cape on.
This is a debut in every sense. Carys Should Be the UK’s Next Eurovision Entry marks Carys Jeffrey Evans’ writing, producing and directing debut, as well as her first professional performance in a decade. No awards. No reviews. No glittering quote from a broadsheet critic. Just one fresh idea and what appears to be a concerning amount of determination.
And I say “concerning” with affection. Theatre runs on concerning amounts of determination. So does Eurovision. So, frankly, does my post round during Fringe season.
There is something rather lovely in the honesty of it all. This is a rare opportunity to say, “I saw her before she was famous.” Or, as the show itself cheerfully suggests, “I saw her before she faded back into obscurity.” That is the sort of self-awareness I like. If you cannot laugh at the possibility of your own dramatic collapse, are you even ready for showbusiness?
Beneath the laughs, though, this one-woman musical comedy has a proper heart beating away under the glitter. The show explores what it means to hold onto a dream even when every reasonable argument is politely suggesting you put it down, have a biscuit and perhaps consider a quieter hobby.
Through Eurovision, Carys looks at ambition, identity and the very human desire to be part of something bigger than yourself. And that, underneath all the sparkle, is why Eurovision gets people. Yes, it is ridiculous. Yes, the voting can make your blood pressure behave like a malfunctioning lift. Yes, the UK’s Eurovision journey has at times felt like watching someone confidently enter a talent show with a kazoo and a dream. But it still matters because it is about being seen, being heard, and occasionally being lifted twelve feet into the air while singing about heartbreak in metallic trousers.
Carys wants in. And honestly, who can blame her?
The early quotes are also pleasingly unhinged in the best Fringe tradition. Carys’ mother-in-law calls her “the funniest person I know,” which is both charming and brave, because family quotes can go either way. Meanwhile, Sam Fox, described as a one-time X Factor auditionee and Carys’ work colleague, calls the show “an unmissable concoction of Eurovision fantasia.”
I do not know about you, but “Eurovision fantasia” is exactly the sort of phrase that makes me want to lean forward, check the running time, and ask whether anyone has brought flags.
Carys Should Be the UK’s Next Eurovision Entry plays at theSpace @ Surgeon’s Hall from 7 to 22 August 2026, excluding 16 August. Performances are at 15:05 and the show runs for 50 minutes. Tickets are £12, with concessions at £9, and it is suggested for ages 14 and above.
Tickets are available through the Fringe box office on 0131 226 0000 or via www.edfringe.com.
So there we have it. A Fringe debut. A Eurovision campaign. A one-woman musical comedy with big dreams, big nerve and possibly a petition waiting by the door.
Will Carys Jeffrey Evans become the UK’s next Eurovision entry? I cannot say.
But if she turns up with a key change, a wind machine and enough belief to make the BBC nervous, Grace’s satchel may have no choice but to give her twelve points.
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