Paja Neuho­fer­ova wears a blue flor­al pat­tern full skirt, a short navy jack­et with the blue flor­al fab­ric on the front, a head­band with small flowers. As we arrive she is sit­ting on the counter. The accor­di­on she plays is a deep glossy red. It sounds jaunty. Eight­een of us are tightly packed in to Cof­fix on Bal­lance street. Daniel Dvo­r­acek ven­tures around the seat­ing tak­ing cof­fee orders. Most of us order some­thing. It’s much like a busy cof­fee shop on a Monday morn­ing.

The accor­di­on slows down. Dvo­r­acek takes a seat to the side. He’s provid­ing live music. A wooden flute, a ukulele, and a mouth harp are only three of the instru­ments he uses. The cafe lights go out. The white glow from the milk fridge illu­min­ates the counter. Neuho­fer­ova reappears with a giant inflat­able globe and the show prop­er starts.

It’s delight­ful and quirky. Tiny pup­pets act out the story which is based on her life. Cof­fee shop staples – takeaway cups, cuphold­ers etc – are pressed into ser­vice to help cre­ate the set­tings. There are some beau­ti­fully clev­er moments which charm us. I’m sit­ting at the back of the audi­ence which means I can’t always see. I notice the sounds. There are shouts of laughter. The occa­sion­al woosh-BANG of the wind com­ing in the front door. A low rumble from the air-con­di­tion­ing unit. The pup­pets dis­ap­pear and we are now in the real world of the cof­fee shop. Takeaway cups are cups again. Famil­i­ar sen­tences are exchanged. Hello. How was your week­end. Flat White. Two sug­ars. The scene becomes a dance piece. Neuho­fer­ova dis­ap­pears. Then she reappears and the cof­fee shop day starts again.