My Polish Roots (and other vegetables)

Karola Gajda, born in Yorkshire to Polish parents, undoubtedly had high ambitions when conceiving this piece. Her heart is certainly in the right place; what could be more gratifying than some whimsical observations on cultural identity interspersed with age-old British crises of class?

Gajda utilises various multimedia devices to 'enhance' aspects of her routine: home videos, PowerPoint presentations (on how butter helps identify your social status), and a god-awful perm (don't ask). Best of all, she makes a pot of Polish soup, barzscz, which she shares with the audience at the end. Misguidedly, she also attempts some 'atmospheric' sound effects (howling wind etc) when recounting the sheer awfulness of the Stalinist regime and her mother's forced exile in Siberia.

These are harrowing tales in themselves without need for such amateurish embellishment. Despite Gajda's obvious affinity for her heritage, the observations made aren't particularly astute or humourous, and a forced, mawkish delivery (like a failed Blue Peter audition) ruins any sentiment, thus rendering the piece, unlike the barzscz, a little sickly.