“Has anybody ever seen a drama critic in the daytime? Of course not. They come out after dark, up to no good.”

I may be as criminally inclined as P. G. Wodehouse implies in The Adventures of Sally, I may be a vampire or a werewolf (I do have monstrously thick hair) or any number of those creatures that are chased with pitchforks by a baying mob because of their utter indifference to humanity. I lurch through the darkness, creeping my way into the ADC, rubbing my hands and cackling under my breath on the back row as I think of how vapid the lead actor is, how ridiculous the dance choreography is, how deliriously happy I will feel when I return to my dilapidated lair and destroy someone’s dreams in a maximum of 500 words.

Or, I could be an individual with a zeal for theatre, a desire to engage with Cambridge’s dramatic realm and share my experience. It doesn’t sound as thrilling as being innately evil, but unfortunately for those readers who were hoping for some spontaneous gothic fiction or a revelation about my secret life in Cambridge’s seedy criminal underworld, the average profile of a theatre reviewer is simply a student with a curiosity in or a passion for the stage.

While we may not get to wear sable capes with a fabulously red inside lining and licence to speak with a shoddy Romanian accent, the ultimate perk of being a reviewer is two free tickets to any production being staged in Cambridge that is offered. Not only does it help to manage your expenses (some tickets can sell at £10, which is essentially two weeks’ worth of Sainsbury’s Basics shopping), it can also build foundations for friendships: a spare free ticket is unlikely to be refused, and perhaps the ‘Yawn and Reach’ technique will (finally!) work when they’re too engrossed in watching interpretive dance to techno music and strobe lighting.

Of course, it can be difficult within the Cambridge bubble to move as a critic without any repercussions: sitting next to an actor and fellow student in a lecture who I had recently criticised was dizzyingly uncomfortable, to the extent that I was almost tempted to give him a false name (thankfully my mind stopped me before I uttered the immortal ‘Gladys’). Yet there is nothing to fear nor feel regretful about when your review has been honest and constructive. Completely disparaging a production or performance with vitriol is not the type of piece that will garner you e-mails from directors or producers actually thanking you for your comments, but it is the type that will force you inconveniently into hiding in the college buttery forevermore.

The turnaround time is hectic (reviews need to be submitted the morning after, which means even if the ‘Yawn and Reach’ technique worked, post-performance/celebratory ADC bar drinks will be cut short), but reviewing is non-committal, and a leisurely way to add to your portfolio, relieve yourself of the pile of books stacked upon your desk, and bask in the culture that Cambridge has to offer. We aren’t monsters, just misunderstood.