Well, you have a child, there's a crisis – maybe a parent dying, a late circumcision has gone wrong. Amid the pain, the narrators say, sloshed in milkshake, Coca-cola all over the stage, I had my first trip to McDonald's – how else would your aunt cope, looking after a ten year-old nephew while his father dies? The show starts with these stories, and starts with a messy explosion of liquids and crap, it felt like the stage was drowning in grease from the biggest burger you ever saw. But the show is as much about the more insidious infiltration of Big Macs into the emotional fabric of our lives. Later the stories become rants about sex and love, amid this backdrop of crud and stuff coating, covering the stage like a batter made from sewage. The show forces strong physical revulsions, but allows connection with the actors' stories. And these explore burlesque comedy (bodies too slippery to shake hands, have sex, falling over one another), sad tragedies, stories of loneliness, where there are no happy meals, only Happy Meals. Yes, people (mainly older people) did walk out. Some nights audiences were stunned, others gave standing ovations. The sheer physicality of bodies in gunk is strong stomach-churning stuff, but this show is far more than empty agit-prop. It explores the substance and texture of our lives where multi-national fast food brands coat our minds and slop over into our feelings as well as our intestines.