Fleabag tells story of a young woman in London. She deals with life, love and all kinds of messiness. Themes of grief, family and sexuality pop up everywhere. Humor mixes with drama. It’s sharp, witty and a bit chaotic. People rave about its clever writing and strong performances. You won’t want to miss it!

Meet the characters from Fleabag

Godmother

Oh my god, the Godmother is delightfully venomous — looks like a brochure for “philanthropy” and talks like she has a private island but also keeps receipts for emotional damage. She’s polished, ruthless in the softest way, and will smile as she explains why you’re the problem (while offering you a canapé). She loves charity galas more than people, which is maybe unfair because she does sometimes actually care — in small, perfectly arranged doses. Kind of terrifying, kind of classy, and probably has three identical umbrellas hidden around the house.

Bank Manager

The Bank Manager is all swivel chair dignity and polite forms of disappointment, like a man whose spreadsheets have feelings. He makes rules feel personal and will nod while stabbing your dreams with an approved-stamp (but he’s not evil, just Very Busy). There’s a soft core of decency under the trousers-and-tie exterior, maybe he cries at adverts sometimes, or at least looks like he might. Oddly precise about his pen collection and suspiciously fond of mint humbugs.

Harry

Harry is the flirty, slightly aimless lad who smells of aftershave and bad life choices — charming in a messy, unripe way. He says the right things at the wrong time, sometimes like he read an instruction manual on relationships and skipped chapters. He’s fun on a Friday night and infuriatingly avoidant on a Tuesday, with a habit of reappearing when you’ve almost forgotten him. Has a tendency to laugh too loud and owns socks with small animals on them, which he will defend fiercely.

Claire

Claire is immaculate, furious, and heartbreakingly efficient; basically a human blue pencil who will correct your life choices under fluorescent lighting. She’s the kind of sister who makes colour-coded lists but will also throw them away and cry into the bin when it all gets too much. Proud, small-merciless, loyal in a way that feels like a contract, and oddly maternal for someone who refuses to look vulnerable in public. She drinks tea like it’s a ritual and will secretly eat pastries in the car with the doors locked.

Martin

Martin is the quietly unbearable husband energy — smile too smooth, opinions like well-placed cushions, and a faintly tragic attempt at being a nice bloke. He wants to be loved and is convinced charm is a currency, which means he spends it badly and often. He can be sweet in a clumsy, performative way and then do something bafflingly insensitive five minutes later. Loves bespoke colognes and making small talk about plants while missing the point of everything.

Arsehole Guy

As the name suggests — arsehole Guy is loud, smug, and has unreadable charm calibrated to annoy rather than comfort. He chews conversation like gum and expects applause for the bare minimum of decency; bonus points if he’s attractive and uses it as a hobby. He’s the sort of person who will mansplain rent prices at a funeral and leave you incredulous and oddly impressed by his confidence. Wears trainers with formal coats and keeps a tiny jar of assertiveness for emergencies.

Boo

Boo is devastatingly bright and messy in the best way, the kind of friend you want at 3 a.m. and would trust with your last biscuit — honestly just a radiant, yuletide chaos. She’s warm and fabulously awkward, makes killer playlists, and often says things that are painfully, perfectly true. Tragic and tender at once, with a laugh that fills rooms and a tendency to leave things unfinished (but in a poetic way). She liked chips with mayo and left little notes everywhere, which is both charming and monumentally inconvenient.

The Priest

The Priest is painfully earnest in the most attractive sense — soft-spoken, morally alarmed, and shockingly hot for someone wearing a clerical collar (yes, it’s a mood). He’s deeply conflicted, sincere to the point of stumbling, and reads books you’ve never heard of then quotes them at awkward moments. He’s trying to be good and failing spectacularly in the most human way, which makes him irresistible and exhausting at once. Collects tiny notepads and probably judges his own playlist.

Fleabag

Fleabag is a combustible, razor-sharp mess who can dismantle you with a look and then feed you cake like nothing happened. She’s funny, furious, illogical and honest in a way that’s almost cruel, but also soft underneath — which she’ll deny and then prove with an ill-timed gesture. Breaks the fourth wall with the casualness of someone chatting over a pub table, and hoards other people’s sympathy like it’s currency. Drinks coffee like water, steals pens, and has a catalogue of poor decisions she tells like trophies.