Daisy Pulls It Off, Lyric, Shaftesbury Avenue, London

Golly gosh, what a spiffing wheeze!
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Ooh, I say, Bunty, look! A revival of Daisy Pulls It Off has just opened in the West End. No, I don't know what the "it" is that she pulls off, you silly Wilhemina. It just means, you know, that she turns up trumps. Yes, it's set in a girl's school rather like ours. Gymslip Heaven, as Uncle Quentin calls it, the rotter. Only this one is named Grangewood and it's 1927 and Daisy is the first scholarship girl ever taken from an elementary school.

Two absolute reptiles, Sybil and Monica, also from the Fourth, make Daisy's life hell on roller skates. Well, slowcoach, because they're snobs and because Daisy is simply groaning with grey matter and a total godsend on the hockey field. I absolutely can't bear class distinctions, can you, Bunty? Why, only the other day, I gave matron's mother one of my scrummiest smiles. Pity she's nearly blind, poor raddled old bat.

Anyway, it says in this newspaper that Sybil and Monica beaver away like billy-o to make Daisy appear to be an exam cheat, a telltale, a sloven, and an all-round bad egg, and Daisy can't defend herself because it's a point of honour at the school not to sneak. The critic chappie here says that that kind of stupid code gives the green light to creeps and bullies. Oh, what pi-jaw, Bunty. The man's potty.

Yes, he does like the show – quite a lot, it seems. He thinks that Katherine Health is spiffingly funny as Daisy's super-keen best chum, Trixie, and that Hannah Yelland is top-hole, in a humorously "honour bright" manner, as our heroine. He says that Denise Deegan's play has more likeably awful gags than you can shake a lacrosse stick at – what with dorm hot-water bottle fights, and schoolgirl "pashes", and clifftop rescues.

He writes that he doesn't know which is his favourite bit. "Is it the scene where the hockey captains are racking their brains over which girl to choose as a vital substitute? And at that moment, they hear Daisy's perfect piano-playing issuing from the music-room, and give each other the look that says it all? Or is it the climax when we finally discover why Daisy, a lower middle-class Welsh girl, has cut-glass elocution?" Why is he asking us, Bunty? He should jolly well make up his own mind. That's his job.

Oh, and he says that he loves the way that David Gilmore's production, with its "high-energy puckish pastiche" (ye Gods, Bunty) captures the fact that the play is a mock-celebration of the values of Grangewood.

I say, I don't like the sound of that "mock", Bunty. If you ask me, it doesn't looks as if this show is coming to us off a straight bat. But I bet that Katherine Igoe's head girl, Claire ("a mixture of the goddess Diana and Doris Day in Calamity Jane") is an example to us all. And this critic-wallah does admit that the play is a great argument for single-sex education. No, dearest, I suspect that's a joke. Do you still want to go, Bunty? Yes, me too. Last one down the creeper's a creepy-crawly. O hinc spes effulget!

Booking to 2 Nov, 0870 890 1107.