Unicorn Theatre 147 Tooley St London Se1 2Hz

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Let’s be honest—you’re probably reading this because you’ve got a kid, or a niece, or you’re just curious. But here’s the thing: Unicorn shows are for adults too. I went to a performance of The Boy Who Climbed into the Moon and cried during a scene about a chair that missed its owner. A man next to me—in a suit, no less—was wiping his eyes with his tie. We’re all still children, just with better excuses for tears. The best shows here last about 50 minutes. Perfect for short attention spans (yours, I mean—kids’ will surprise you). Plus, the café sells flat whites and “unicorn sprinkles” cookies. That’s not irony; that’s survival.

How to not mess up your visit

Book ahead. Seriously. Shows sell out weeks in advance, especially the ones for ages 3-5. And arrive 20 minutes early—the foyer has a “chill-out zone” with cushions and books. Let the kids run feral while you sip overpriced tea. Also: don’t sit in the front row unless you’re okay with a puppet spider crawling into your lap. I learned this the hard way. (The spider was called Gerald. He was lovely.) Oh, and the loos are down a corridor that bends like a labyrinth. Just follow the sound of flushing giggles.

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If you’re over 25 and feel weird going alone? Don’t. I saw a retired couple there last week, no kids, just holding hands. They told me they come for the “quiet afternoons shows”—which are relaxed performances designed for people with autism or anxiety. The lights stay dim, you can leave and come back. That’s not just accessibility; that’s humanity as a craft. The Unicorn is basically a big, weird hug disguised as a theatre.

And that brings me back to the little girl at the door. “Are you lost?” she asked. I told her, “Maybe. But I think I’m supposed to be here.” She grinned, handed me a sticker of a sad rainbow, and ran off. That sticker is still on my laptop. It reminds me that 147 Tooley Street, London Se1 2hz, isn’t a postcode—it’s a permission slip. Permission to feel silly, to cry over furniture, and to admit you’re still five years old when a good story comes along. So go. Get lost. And bring snacks. You’ll be fine.