"Everything they tell you is a lie. Babies aren't cute, the sixties didn't swing and there's no such thing as safe sex. Citizen Kane was not the best movie, so what the stupid ball rolls off the table. Santa Claus is a fat, boozy actor and that cafe that sells an 'all day' breakfast? It shuts at 5.30. My point being, they lied. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar."

Rob researched Crush by spending ten years in a catty office, full of growling sexual subtext. The play tells the story of Johnny and his doomed crush on Celia, the office bitch. The trouble is, she's shagging Nudds, a man whose voice is so smooth, he can wriggle his tongue between two coats of paint. And that is where the story ends. Until... click, click, click... in minces Laura, in killer heels. As Bitch 2.0, Laura makes Celia look like an amateur. What starts out as handbags at dawn, soon descends into a filthy labyrinth where life itself hangs in the balance, culminating in a victorian theatrical spectacle of literally breathtaking proportions. For Crush, think crisp white blouses, an office tango and a flirt to the death.