New Event: Heretics x Suella Braverman LIVE
Get Limited Early-Bird Tickets NOW
She just defected to Reform, and we’re all trying to work out what is going through her head…and what is going to happen to the country. That’s why I’m delighted to bring you - in my second ever live Heretics show - SUELLA BRAVERMAN.
MARCH 11TH, 6:45PM.
THE SHAW THEATRE, LONDON.
Now available to everyone. Get your early-bird tickets here: BUY TICKETS HERE
Supporting act Tony Lapidus will be doing his political impressions at the start, before Suella and I sit down to discuss the big topics in the beautiful Shaw Theatre between Kings X and London Euston. We’ll then do a Q&A session, and those who purchase limited VIP tickets can come meet and hang out with Tony, Suella and me with a prosecco afterwards.
My previous live show with Konstantin Kisin sold out in a few hours. For the first day, tickets will just be available to paid Substack subscribers. There are 50 early-bird tickets at discounted rates, so sign up to get yours now, and scroll down for the link.
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Read the touching review from the wonderful ARCAM who attended the last live show I did with Konstantin Kisin:
Hey Andrew — and hello to everyone here.
I came from Zurich for the Shaw Theatre event in early December - “An evening with Konstantin Kisin”. It stayed with me long after I got home, so I wrote a short reflection on why.
If you’re on the fence about attending one of these evenings in person, I hope this offers a small nudge.
So here it is, as my way of saying thanks.
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“Catching a rising star”
It’s not always that you get the chance to meet people you look up to. Moments like that are rare — and when they do happen, they tend to be either the byproduct of chance, or the result of planning.
Throughout my life so far, I’ve been fortunate enough to gather a small collection of these moments, however fleeting they might be. Last Friday was no less of an example.
When I arrived at the Shaw Theatre in London, it felt like stepping onto a platform just before a departing train becomes impossible to board. It was a modest venue — the stage simple: two armchairs, a small table, and a cluster of plants.
But the conversation that unfolded between Konstantin Kisin and Andrew Gold carried a sense of inevitability: the kind that makes you think that a few years from now, evenings like this will belong to far larger venues, and be far less reachable.
Luckily, this time I hadn’t missed the moment. Sitting in the front row, it felt less like watching a show and more like stepping into an intellectual boxing ring.
There was humour, there were jests; there was sparring, and compromise. Gold conducted the flow of questioning masterfully, and more often than not I found myself leaning forward, drinking from that fountain of ideas. I felt less like a spectator and more like a silent participant, mentally taking apart both questions and answers as they unfolded, trying to catch what lay beneath them.
Calling it inspiring isn’t quite enough. By the time it ended, I felt the same kind of awe I remember from hearing Jordan Peterson for the first time. It wasn’t only the content that drew me in, but the way it was wielded — arguments tested for weak points with precision, not malice. Done well, debate sharpens everyone in the room, not just the people on stage — if we’re willing to let our own armour take a hit so we can see where it needs strengthening.
What came after, though, will stay with me for years, mostly because it echoed one of my most cherished childhood memories.
As a kid, I often went to the opera to see my father perform. From Verdi to Wagner, I marvelled at the characters he brought to life.
But what fascinated me most wasn’t what happened on stage — it was the in-between: those brief intermissions when I would slip out of the auditorium, walk around the building, and enter through the artists’ door. That was the world between worlds.
Actors and actresses, still in full costume, clustered together and chatted as they smoked, their breath and cigarettes turning the corridor air strangely ethereal. The veil between fantasy and reality thinned. A few minutes earlier they had been heroes — kings, gods. And then they stood in front of me, still carrying the faint aura of those roles, talking casually… sometimes even to a child.
That same familiar feeling returned on Friday night when Gold and Kisin stepped into the foyer and greeted a few of us from the audience.
When I mentioned that I was Portuguese, Andrew slipped into my native language without hesitation. It was brief, but it revealed something I admire in how he carries himself: he meets people where they are — linguistically and intellectually — rather than expecting them to adjust to him.
Konstantin brought the same generosity. When he heard I had travelled from Zurich just for the event, he offered to take a photo before I could even ask, and carefully signed his book for my daughter. That mix of seriousness and warmth, ambition and accessibility, is what makes his work feel not only impressive, but earned.
Evenings like this remind me why it matters to meet the people whose work moves us — to share the same air rather than only a voice through a pair of headphones. Seeing Kisin and Gold up close — sharp, warm, and fully human — turned admiration into something more active: a quiet resolve to think more clearly, argue more honestly, and carry a little of that courage back into my own life.
If their ideas sharpened my mind on stage, their presence in the foyer did something gentler, but just as important. It made the path they are walking feel a little less distant — and my own next step a little more possible.
Got my early-bird ticket 😁 See ya all there.