No horses were harmed in the making of this show, but that’s not to say our history with our equine friends is either fair or equitable. As Elf Lyons reminds us, millions of them died in the First World War, and that is why, in Europe, there are more statues of horses than women. This little bit of bait and switch represents Lyons at her best. She’s a comedy triple threat: clown, clever and crowd-work, all wrapped up in an air of confidence with an underlying fragility that is irresistible. We’re in the palm of her hoof from the starter’s gun onwards and she makes it look easy.

At least, that’s how this review would have started had Elf Lyons actually appeared in the show. Because, dear reader, Horses is an entirely unique experience: the first theatrical performance entirely presented by horses. (This is, of course, a lie.) But all the greats are here: Pegasus, Trojan, even Seabiscuit makes a fleeting appearance alongside the horses that Lyons and her siblings conjured up when they were children playing in the garden.

The point, on the surface, is simple yet thought-provoking: as she says at the end ‘When was the last time you played, and not on a phone?’. And it’s enough, more than enough, to come to the theatre and laugh a lot and play a little and wonder at Lyons’ imagination and feel nostalgic for your more innocent days. But there are also layers here: the portrayal of a cutesy dressage horse in particular highlights the way we project human traits onto ‘our’ animals. Horse can’t simply be horse: it has to be named, tamed and ultimately exploited. Who the hell do we think we are and where did our sense of wonder go? If we can find it again in one last, glorious, race around the garden, maybe we can also find an important bit of ourselves.