Interview: Annie Davison on BAIRNS at Edinburgh Fringe 2025

Theatre-maker Annie Davison brings a heartfelt, high-energy solo show to Edinburgh Fringe. We talked panic years, surrogate research rabbit holes, and making audiences cry (in a good way).

Photo by Will Dolan

Speaking to Annie about BAIRNS was a complete delight. Even before seeing the show, it’s clear this is the kind of new writing that makes the Fringe so exciting; smart, funny, emotionally rich, and rooted in something deeply personal. BAIRNS is a one-woman piece exploring surrogacy, sisterhood, and what it means to feel left behind while everyone else seems to grow up. We talked about panic years, accidental research spirals, emotional boundaries, and why the North East deserves far more stories on stage.

BAIRNS is both laugh out loud funny and emotionally grounded. When did you first realise this was a story you needed to tell on stage and that you were the one to perform it?

I think BAIRNS came from feeling like an overgrown child, like a toddler in her midtwenties. Then my friends and sister started their pregnancy journeys and I felt a million miles away, sort of left behind. After a conversation about fertility, I researched becoming a surrogate, something I didn’t need to do in the end, and found it fascinating. I knew I wanted to write a show about it. I researched for weeks. I wanted it to be authentic, funny, heartfelt, about sisterhood and trust. But honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like the right person to tell this story. I’ve never been a surrogate, but it came from the right place.

You shift between thirteen characters in under an hour. How did you develop the structure and rhythm of the piece to keep that energy fluid but clear?

It was hard because I do waffle, honestly. I had to be brutal with the script, partly because there’s only 60 minutes, but also because it distracts from the plot. The character switches are what keep the story moving and the energy up. It’s also useful for me, I get a break from Lottie and Freya, pop into another character, breathe, and come back again. I’d love to expand BAIRNS. I’ve got ideas for more scenes and characters, and there’s an extended cut of the date scene I’d love to reveal one day.

You’ve spoken about entering your ‘panic years’ – that limbo between growing up and not quite there yet. Did writing BAIRNS give you a way to process that or just add more chaos?

I’m not sure, definitely not out of the woods yet. But writing BAIRNS helped me get complicated feelings out of my body. Performing it has sparked conversations with audiences of all ages and perspectives about the Children Question and the Growing Up Problem. It gave me vocabulary for the anxiety I was feeling. It also helped me grow as an actor, writer, producer (never again), and person. I’ve gained confidence, resilience, and realised how much I love creating my own work. So yes, it helped me with the panic years of my creative journey too.

Were there aspects of Lottie that felt too close to home?

Yes, absolutely. At times it felt like writing a diary and then watching people read it. I told a director friend I felt exposed and she said, just take it away from yourself then. It sounds obvious, but once I remembered the story wasn’t about me or my family, I felt freer to explore. It became a balancing act between making it authentic but also keeping myself emotionally safe as an artist.

My partner’s from Hartlepool, so I’ve got a soft spot for the North East and a fully committed parmo habit. What’s one thing from North East culture you wish more people appreciated?

So much: the beaches, the music, the fact you can surf, climb a hill and visit a city in one day. The random traditions, history, friendliness, the weather, the stars, the fresh air, the castles, and the humour. Everyone up there’s a comedian. The turns of phrase are amazing. My dad told me recently that a Docker’s oyster is Geordie slang for a bad phlegmy cough. It’s gross, but it’s poetry.

Photo by Will Dolan

BAIRNS blends elements of theatre and stand up. How conscious were you of form when creating it? Did the tone shape the structure, or the other way round?

The show is Lottie speaking to the baby, and the audience is the baby. It’s similar to how a standup confides in their audience. No audience participation, promise. That structure made the story more specific and helped shape certain moments. The ending breaks the structure, I won’t spoil it, but I’m glad it does. That confiding tone allowed it to be both funny and feeling.

This is a very personal show, but you’ve now performed it in front of a range of audiences. Has anything in their reaction surprised you or changed how you think about the piece?

Yes. There’s a sweet moment between Freya and Lottie that’s made people audibly gasp. Seeing people cry brings me joy because it means they care. That was a big fear, would anyone care about these characters? I’ve seen mothers and daughters hold hands during the show, overheard older men in the bar sharing birth stories, and even had a 70-something man laugh with joy at a very rude word. My sister watched in Newcastle, six weeks postbirth. She gave me a standing ovation and I cried. Lots.

Performing something so personal every day at the Fringe must take its toll. How do you emotionally sustain yourself through the run?

It’s about giving yourself permission to fully feel the story, but only for an hour. After that, I shake it off and hug friends and family. I try to stay calm before the show, with mixed success. Eating enough, sleeping, taking iron pills, and going for runs all help. Edinburgh is thrilling but also draining, so you have to be disciplined, know when to go home, and cry to your mum.

There’s a wave of autobiographical, female led solo work gaining momentum. How do you see BAIRNS fitting into that wider conversation? Are you consciously responding to any current trends or expectations?

To be honest, I wanted BAIRNS to be a TV series, but I’d never written anything and needed people to hear my words. A one woman show I write, produce, and act in was the cheapest, most accessible way. There’s freedom in a solo show, no big set or large cast, just words, imagination, and the audience. In this underfunded theatre landscape, it can be the only option, and that’s not a bad thing. Though it’s hard. I’m knackered. Recent shows like Prima Facie, DUST, and Fleabag inspired me and showed what’s possible. Jodie Comer’s opening night was one of the best nights of my life.

10. If BAIRNS had a playlist, what three tracks would be on it?

• Mark Knopfler – Going Home: A rousing anthem. I could punch a zombie in the face on Holy Island after hearing it.

• Angie McMahon – Making it Through: If I think about this song, I’ll cry. Great, I’m crying.

• Sean Paul – Temperature: Come see the show to find out why, trust me, it gets the body moving.

Photo by Will Dolan

11. How important was it to root the story in the North East?

So important. I’m from Northumberland, now in London, and I miss it so much. If I hear a Geordie accent, I’ll ask where they’re from. We always have someone in common. It’s disheartening how the North is often shown as grim or depressing. We’re jovial, funny, full of heart, and BAIRNS needed to reflect that. Stories are often told from a London default. For me, the North East is the default. People ask why it’s set there. I say it just is, that should be enough. There’s a North East renaissance happening — Sam Fender, 28 Years Later. That village hall scene? Thirty seconds from my parents’ house. Also hosted my fifth birthday party.

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BAIRNS

📍 Pleasance Courtyard (Baby Grand)

📅 31 July – 26 August (not 12 August)

⏰ 14:05 daily (60 mins)

🎟️ Tickets via Edinburgh Fringe