I tell stories that stick. Sometimes they make people laugh until they snort, sometimes they leave folks staring into the middle distance, rethinking their life choices. My aim? Connect with the audience in a way that lingers—whether through comedy, drama, or something gloriously in-between.
People have compared my comedic style to Caroline Aherne, Tracy Ullman, and Victoria Wood—masters at finding poetry in everyday life and the ridiculous in the mundane. My comedy is quirky, grounded, occasionally close to the bone. I poke the angry bear when it needs poking, but I never provoke for provocation’s sake—truth is my compass, even in the silliest moments.
In drama and music, I lean towards melancholy and raw honesty: pain, longing, nostalgia, the quiet moments of suffering that are so universal they almost become beautiful. I believe in the artistic power of sadness just as much as the joy of a perfectly timed punchline.
When it comes to making my own work, I’m not a film-school grad or a walking glossary of camera terms—I’m armed with an iPhone, a stubborn creative streak, and the willingness to sit for hours, days, weeks, or months experimenting until something works. I think in terms of “How will this look in the edit?”—spotting shots, effects, or little hacks that can turn something ordinary into something unforgettable. I’ve learned through curiosity, trial, error, and the occasional small disaster.
Speaking of disasters:
• Filming my music video Confession in the bath, wrapped in silver foil with a lit sparkler, and an elaborate lighting setup plugged into a tangled extension lead mess, when my cat decided to join the party—she opened the bathroom door, got her paw hopelessly tangled in wires, panicked like only cats can, and sprinted through the chaos, dragging lights and cables in her wake. Result? A filter lost in the toilet, a sparkler-burned hole in the bath, and a flooded bathroom. All in a day’s shoot.
• Lighting a candle in Lost It and setting half my fringe on fire, then tripping over a cable mid-shot. For months, I was rocking the fringeless look.
And then there’s the running joke on set: “Can we get a close-up of Fanni?” or “We need more Fanni in the shot!”—which somehow never gets old.
Highlights:
• LINCK — A role that tested every inch of me—mentally, emotionally, physically. It toured London and went to the Edinburgh Festival, earning rave reviews and press coverage.
• Nowhere Close — A TV comedy still in post-production, five and a half years in the making. I’ve trusted a lot of people along the way, only to learn that your project is rarely as important to others as it is to you. It’s a lesson in patience, persistence, and not letting go—even when you feel like you’re running solo.
• Self-Isolation — A lockdown song I wrote and performed, which Matt Lucas publicly praised and retweeted, a big deal in my corner of the internet.
• Winner of the Mark Summers Agency Monologue Competition, chosen from hundreds of participants.
• And a highlight that humbles me: Sir Ian McKellen came to watch me perform in London, called my work “superb,” and declared me “very watchable.” He’s also one of my creative influences—so having that come full circle is an honour I treasure.
My influences are giants of truth and skill: Victoria Wood, Julie Walters, Penelope Keith, Judi Dench—and yes, Ian McKellen, who embodies technical mastery married to authentic connection.
Looking ahead, I want to tell harder-hitting, kitchen-sink dramas about the everyday lives that often go unnoticed—raw, gritty, and homegrown stories—as well as keep creating music videos that are a creative release despite the hard graft and occasional hair fires. The tools might change—AI, social media, fancy cameras—but my goal remains: create work that cuts through the noise and speaks to people on a deeply human level.
At the heart of it all, my work is about connection. Sometimes that means a sketch that makes someone laugh until they cry. Sometimes it’s a song that quietly rearranges their thoughts. And sometimes, if I’ve done my job right, it’s both.
