There is an earthy sexual energy to Natasha Wood’s delivery of this autobiographical monologue. She flirts with her audience, daring them not to be shocked at her stories, all true, of working on her parent’s underwear market stall, of looking at boy’s crotches and frank debate with her husband about the size of her new breasts.

But the real dare she is laying down is not just to appreciate her raunchy descriptions. It is to understand her as a sexual being, despite any prejudices the audience might bring concerning those who, like her, use a wheelchair to get around.

The beauty is that Wood has the ability to do this without forcing the issue. It’s there in the background, thanks to the well-constructed script, written with Beverly Sanders. She is not above manipulating her audience, however, taking them far beyond the comfort zone as she allows the silence to linger after recounting one of the tragedies in her life.

At its heart, this is the story of an ordinary life made extraordinary by circumstance, told with such a strongly personable delivery that you leave the room believing you have just spent an hour in the company of a close friend.