Geraldine Quinn has had writer’s block, which is unfortunate because it’s taught her that no one will notice if you have four years off work. That’s her story anyway, though it’s hard to believe no one would miss the sequin-clad, orphan Annie-bewigged goddess standing on stage. All Quinn ever wanted to be was Carol Burnett or Yootha Joyce. She yearned for kaftans, brassiness and a certain amount of spunk. In other words, she wanted to be a broad. This show is a homage both to her heroes and the long road travelled to achieve broad-status, from day dreaming, to drama school, to auditioning, to the cabaret circuit, to lockdown and rediscovering her delight in performing. Her stories are punctuated by original songs (quite the thing in this year’s Fringe, by the way). Quinn is the master of the big finish and when the pipes open for the penultimate song you realise just how amazing her voice is. While it’s understandable that she’s kept something in the tank for the end, unleashing more power earlier could have propelled the whole show further forward. Ultimately though, Broad is brilliant in its simplicity: a good old-fashioned cabaret free of tricks and gimmicks. Just a broad and her voice, rediscovering and reclaiming her rightful place on the stage.