He swaggered on to the centre of the stage, black Fred Perry, top knot, and he started like he might never stop.
60 minutes and a million words later he did stop. Inbetween we learned what he, Nick, had learned from the "grass green eyed" Johnny Bevan.
What he learned was nothing most of the audience hadn't learned for themselves: that New Labour had promised much - "the thump of love and hope" - delivered diddly, and left a generation with nothing more to look forward to than becoming their parents - oh, and David Cameron.
The journey was where the heart was won and that was pulsating.
Luke Wright wrote the piece, played Nick and shoved and bullied the story with a blistering performance that left the ears scratched and hope in ashes.
He used poetry that spat, and a face that seemed to age with the despair of the characters in his story.
There was a Billy Braggesque guitar, there were gritty two tone paintings on a screen, there was a fear that he might turn on his Middle England audience.
No need. Johnny Bevan's journey had made the point. That "thump of love and hope" ... it either owns you or it don't, there is no middle ground.
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