There’s no single word for vaginas – but an assortment of strange epithets, euphemisms and endearments.

And no standard way to describe them, for they are as individual as the experiences that stem from them. As such, revealed Eve Ensler’s script, vaginas are the epicentre of womanhood and women’s humanity.

This absorbing and moving show was a celebration (mainly through the efforts of Louisa Lytton) of, and a lament (courtesy largely of Zaraah Abrahams) for, women all over the world. The factual side, in the main, was authoritatively dealt with by Wendi Peters, who proclaimed the clitoris superior to every other human organ (including the penis) for its number of nerve endings alone. Her monologue about reclaiming the word c*** was enlightening, even thrilling, for its sheer audacity – “it’s a word that makes everything change,” she proclaimed in an ironic and schoolmarmish drawl.

The hardworking threesome (echoes of Macbeth’s witches here?) opened themselves up to ridicule and controversy with great energy and skill, carrying the 99.9% female audience along with them as they laid bare society’s deep-rooted fears of female sexuality (selling vibrators is illegal in some US states, but you can sell a gun anywhere), the terrible legacy of sexual abuse in war zones and, finally and hilariously, the “delicate science” of an orgasm – with which the charismatic and sweetly self-effacing Louisa Lytton brought the show to a hilarious, almost exhausting, climax.