After fifty years gig going this was my first proper folk gig apart from Barry McGuire in the eve of Destruction era and Lindisfarne who I would describe as folk rock
The Hub is a superb venue only 20 minutes drive from where I live but the gig failed to take off for me. Sold out, the audience was almost entirely 70 years old plus, the music largely dreary. I quickly remembered why I do not go to folk concerts.
Billy Mitchell looked ridiculously youthful and energetic, Bob was similarly engaged both sang well. The music was dreary, the audience loved it, I didn’t.
Obviously Lady Eleanor was excellent, Galway Shawl was touching, and that’s about it
A welcome revival of Alan Ayckbourn’s 1994 play, the first part of a trilogy of Things That Go Bump. The 2002 play Snake in the Grass ,and Life and Beth, being parts two and three. The inspiration for the play came from the stage adaptation of The Woman in Black. This is not populist Ayckbourn, and marks his move towards more contemporary themes rather than social realism. Sutton Arts lay before us a Halloween spine chiller- thriller which explores suicide and Psychic claims
We are introduced to Julia Lukin, a nineteen-year-old brilliant musician who committed suicide twelve years earlier, who haunts the three men closest to her, through both the supernatural and in their memories. Special effects are largely eschewed in favour of good acting and a tense script – but rest assure of some delicious spooky surprises and moments, courtesy of David Ashton and his team on lighting and sound. the lights flicker and things go bump…
the set pre show- it was a full house
This is a ghost story, about three men, and their relationships to Julia, a gifted musician who took her life aged nineteen in which the conventions of the ghost story format are challenged.
The tale features:
Joe Lukin, ( David Stone) Julia’s father, who has never let his daughter go, convinced there are unanswered questions about her death.
Andy Rollinson, ( Alan Groucott) Julia’s student boyfriend, now married with a family.
Ken Chase, ( Ian Eaton) an unassuming, nervous, mysterious man who offers his services as a psychic to Joe.
There are also two voice parts in the play: one of Julia (or, more accurately, an actress imitating her voice speaking words the real Julia would probably never have said), and a sombre male voice talking about her death.
The entire play takes place in the Julia Lukin Music Centre, an uneasy mixture between a public music facility and shrine from Joe to his daughter. The room in question is Julia’s ( improbably tidy ) room as a student , now with a walkway installed for public viewing.
In a format used only the second time in a full-length Ayckbourn play, Haunting Julia was written as a ‘real-time’ play (Absent Friends being the first), with a single continuous scene running throughout the whole play. It was intended that the entire play would be performed without an interval to maximise the tension, but this is amateur theatre, and bar takings matter , so some mid show relief is provided!
Leah Fennell is outstanding as the voice of Julia, whose parents push her to achieve things on their behalf, bringing character to a person who never appears on stage, articulating mystery and grief.
The play is set twelve years after the death of musician Julia . To a modern day audience the sceptres of Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse are invoked. Her father, who still cannot come to terms with her death, has turned her student bed-sitting room into a museum which the public can visit – for himself it is a shrine to her memory .
The production team at Sutton invariably produce good sets. This one is no exception. With Martin Groves and his team working their magic once again.The single bed with the teddy bear on the pillow might at first seem to be a child’s bedroom, but the roped-off barrier around the bed soon suggests something else – and this barrier becomes essential to the themes of the play. They can build brick walls too!
This is a long play that has to be carried by just three actors. Luckily all three are capable of meeting the challenge of portraying their part in the events leading to Julia’s death.
David Stone as Julia’s father Joe, not only conveys his own pain but also helps us realise how oppressive he may have been as a parent to a gifted, but unhappy daughter. Garrulous, truculent, loquacious, opinionated and arrogant , yet also vulnerable, and frightened that he may have been at fault. As a fellow grumpy old man I enjoyed his performance enormously.
Alan Groucott gives a pleasingly nuanced performance as Andy, Julia’s former student boyfriend whose exact relationship with her unravels in unsettling style .
Ian Eaton excels as Ken Chase, the volunteer psychic who turns out to have had more to do with Julia than he is at first willing to reveal. Is he a conman, a crank, or a genuine visionary? Ian keeps us guessing.
This is veteran Director Claire Armstrong-Mills’ first Ayckbourn production, a real stunner . She was bold and brave to take on this tricky three hander. It was well worth waiting for. Sleep well everyone!
This is a terrific hybrid of the jukebox musical genre featuring a band, the Kinks, who were at the heart of the 1960’s Great British musical invasion, and their inspiration, Ray Davies. Their story is driven by the compelling sub plot of warring brothers Ray and David Davies offering fortuitous synchronicity with the current Oasis revival. What are the odds on an Oasis musical in twenty years time?
I saw the Kinks live at the tail end of their career in the 1990’s and have seen Ray Davies perform solo on several occasions. The sound and delivery is authentic and a joy. Ray has written the story as well as the songs and lyrics. Shoehorning the band’s story, his own story, and a significant slice of British musical history into a single show is a gargantuan task- but one which he achieves with remarkable success in a tale full of not only great songs, but considerable wry humour. Social commentary and self- deprecating gags abound.
Joe Penhall is credited with having written the book. He throws every dramatic device into the creative pot and somehow emerges triumphantly. Success, failure, hope betrayal, nostalgia, confrontation, duplicity, camaraderie and treachery all exist cheek by jowl over an eight year period. America is satisfyingly lampooned, satirising both the McCarthyite political, and immigration, excesses.
A large ensemble cast, at one point I counted eighteen on stage, abound with zip and energy. Danny Horn is physically very similar to Ray, and a consummate singer and musician on stage, Oliver Hoare has a ball as zany and troubled David. Tam Williams and Joseph Richardson as oily managers Grenville Collins and Robert Wave, are a memorable posh comedy double act counterpointing the visceral tension between the brothers and amongst the band.
The music itself is brash, and pleasingly loud- “You’ve really Got me “ is reprised numerous times. However , the musical highlights arrive unexpectedly. Lisa Wright as Ray’s wife Rasa duets beautifully on “I Go to Sleep”. The band and managers deliver an astonishing acapella version of the sublime “Days”
The running time is two and three quarter hours including interval, and still does not seem enough with “Autumn Almanac” and “Come dancing” cruelly omitted in favour of a slew of hits. The finale of “Waterloo Sunset”, a rocking sing a long “Lola” and hits mega mix , is exhilarating and delightfully exhausting. The hair, wigs, make up and costuming are a visual time tunnel cornucopia. Anyone who likes mini skirts will not be disappointed with a show which wildly exceeded my expectations, and was awarded a richly deserved standing ovation
This “Sunny Afternoon” continues at the Alex until Saturday the 25th before further dates nationwide.
I first saw Elvis on the Bunch of Stiffs tour in 1977, forty seven years ago. Forty seven years prior to 1977 lies 1930. A time before the establishment of the Weimar Republic and Adolf Hitler in Germany, George Vth was King, Hebert Hoover was American president, and the newly written hit songs of the day were Minnie the Moocher and Putting on the Ritz. 1977 is a long time ago.
Radio Costello are a Birmingham based tribute band to Elvis Costello, the first serious attempt that I am aware of. Certainly the first I have seen. There are pros and cons to such a venture. On the release of his debut album in 1977 he claimed to have written hundreds of songs, by 1986, nine years later he had released eleven albums. That is an extraordinary repertoire – with dozens to follow. Furthermore, each album came with diverse styles and arrangements, together with verbose, multi layered lyrics. There are easier artists to pay homage to.
The venue is extraordinary, a church has been on the site for over 900 years, the existing building is over 150 years old, revered English wordsmith Samuel Johnson was baptised there. The acoustics are superb. Outside, 475 years ago , is a plaque to those who were burned at the stake in the reign of Queen Mary.
There are some who are disdainful of tribute bands. They are wrong to be so. Tribute bands are a contemporary reinterpretation in the style of the original act. No-one goes to a Beethoven concert and complains : “ it was rubbish, Beethoven was neither playing nor conducting”.
Tom Bradshaw features as Elvis, physically similar, but not slavishly so, Boris Brain delivers an astonishingly faithful keyboard sound. The drums and bass authentic and relentless and fluid respectively.
One of the challenges for an Elvis tribute is that only two songs were big mainstream hits, Olivers army” in the Uk, selling half a million, and Veronica in America, No 19 on Billboard. But there are numerous associated musical gems, amongst them his cover of “Good year for the Roses” and “Shipbuilding” covered by Robert Wyatt, and Alison covered by Linda Ronstadt, beyond that there are numerous cult classics which appear in the set.
Overall, including interval, they played for two and a quarter hours over two halves. My personal highlights were Clubland and King Horse, fan favourites included Watching the Detective and Whats so Funny About Peace Love and Understanding.
A rewarding night, from a superb accomplished band whom I not only unreservedly recommend ,but whom I will also be going to see again when I next have the opportunity.
I have always been a massive rats fan and was there for their first full UK tour in 77. Thy were the best live band around when punk broke – and that includes The Jam and the Clash.
Their star waned as the seventies closed, they were unable to keep producing high quality songs at a time when new bands were breaking who could do just that.
Ironically their musical high water mark- “Mondays” was also their nemesis. It was wholly atypical of their material. It alienated their die hard punk fans and set a benchmark for their new fan base which they could not possibly emulate.
Geldof is 74 years old now. Although there are peers who are older frontmen ( Iggy pop, Jagger) this tour will surely be his last hurrah
The unbilled support act London based “The Horn” offered ostensibly indy fare, but really harked back to Simple Minds and Duran Duran. They were politely received.
I love Bob, but he can border on the preposterous, and the documentary celebrating the Rats past fifty years was preposterous. It is fifty years since their inception, they have not had fifty years of success. The snippets from the early years merely serving to emphasise what is gone. A few bars of the magnificent Born to be Wild inspired Mary of the Fourth Form teased and tormented in equal measure, but is impossible to play live now in The Jeffry Epstein. Prine Andrew/ Jimmy Savile era.
Symphony Hall is acoustically one of the finest auditoria in the world- but the dialogue was muffled- no excuse for whoever was in charge of sound.
Those sound issue persisted. The chiming piano intro to the opening “Rat trap” was lost in a sludge of guitars. As the show unfolded matters did not improve.
Opening with Rat Trap was bold- sometimes Springsteen would open with Born to Run. When opening with your biggest song works, it sets a high water mark which does not recede. When it doesn’t- you have blown your best song.
Eva Braun, is a routine rocker, Like Clockwork, an irritating novelty song, the energy dipped.Never mind, next up was Neon Heart a great rocker, it fell flat.
Bob then decided that he would stretch out the routine rocker “She’s Gonna do you in” from four to ten minutes courtesy of a blues harmonica solo. Only three people are allowed harmonica solos, Neil young ( Heart of Gold), Bob Dylan ( Blowing in the Wind) and Stevie Wonder ( Isn’t she Lovely). And that is it. There is a reason for this. They are rubbish. Bob proved the point.
“Mondays” was good- with a poignant Gaza monlogue. Close as You’ll ever be was ruined by a poor arrangement. “f*** the world” was embarrassing, fine if you are 14 not when you are 74 and certainly not sing along material. Modern was very good- and the show should have ended there.
Rat Trap
(I Never Loved) Eva Braun
Like Clockwork
Neon Heart
(She’s Gonna) Do You In
Monster Monkeys
Someone’s Looking at You
I Don’t Like Mondays
Whole World
Close as You’ll Ever Be
When the Night Comes
She’s So Modern
Banana Republic
Diamond Smiles
The Boomtown Rats
The truth is that without Johnny Fingers and Gerry Cott who are both pursuing other musical projects the band is shorn of its original musical dynamism with Garry Roberts sadly now dead. It’s over- but thanks for some great memories Bob
Autumn is here. Its becoming cold- surely a cue for some old style Hollywood glitz?
If you like song and dance, particularly tap dance, then this is your show. Visually it is a sparkling, frothy fizzy cocktail of mistaken identity and razzle dazzle.
The story is merely a loose framework for episodic spectacle, showcasing some of the best of Irving Berlin’s timeless melodies, namely: “Top Hat, White Tie and Tails,” “Cheek to Cheek,” “Puttin’ on the Ritz,” and “Let’s Face the Music and Dance”.
Stephen Ridley’s musical direction is impeccable
The choreography is immaculate, featuring dazzling solo dance and stunning unison tap dancing from this wonderfully talented cast.
With great songs, you need great dance. The sparkling choreography and the syncopation in full cast tap dancing numbers is flawless, courtesy of Kathleen Marshall framed by a superb, memorable set, design by Peter McKintosh. It features revolving Art Deco clock-like motifs , incorporating frantic scene changes from bedrooms to bars then hotels to aircraft. Tim Mitchell’s Lighting adds a glamourous veneer. The band , complete with boisterous horns, is a delight. Costumes by Yvonne Milnes and Peter McKintosh are shimmering and sharp.
My recollection of the story is of the 1935 RKO motion picture where Astaire and Rogers set a defining standard with impossible precision and effortless chemistry, blurring the distinction between acting and dancing.
It would be unreasonable to ask for that to be replicated. It isn’t, instead we are offered something different. Phillip Attmore ( Jerry Travers) is a convincing tap dancer, supple but sharp, opposite him plays Dale Tremont (Amara Okereke). Okereke is visually great with strong vocals, however their romance plays second fiddle to the comic sub plot characters.
Producer Horace (James Hume) and his wife Madge (Sally Ann Triplett) are at the centre of the comedy, Triplett is brilliant as Madge, and dominates every time she appears on stage with Hume her hapless foil. Belly laughs on a mid week matinee are difficult to come by but Triplett succeeded time and time again channelling a combination of Lucille ball and Mrs Slocombe. Their partners in crime are almost as hilarious. Horace’s manservant, Bates (James Clyde) is witheringly dry, and a fine looking woman in drag. Alex Gibson-Giorgio’s gloriously outrageous chef Beddini is superb.
You cannot beat Astaire and Rodgers. This production does not aim to. The triumphant “Putting on the Ritz” is impossible to surpass, instead the ensemble deliver the remaining classics with enthusiasm and verve- and that is enough.
This show excels at farce and is hugely enjoyable for it, a celebration of the diversity and allure of musical theatre. Richard Pitts’ direction breathes life and humour into a libretto which is now ninety years old- and is still funny. Quite an achievement. Continues on nationwide tour.
Hitherto The Great Gatsby has been defined by the original F Scott Fitzgerald novel and the 2013 Baz Luhrmann film. For this production which debuted earlier in the year at the Pitlochry Festival Theatre, Elizabeth Newman has adapted the original story for stage ,Sarah Brigham directs the results.
Director Brigham wrestles with the a story which shows how wonderful bring rich is, but interspersed with some sad and bad moments. Ivan Stott recreates Jazz Age music showtunes without the awkward bit of attempting to write lyrics to match Fitzgerald’s original prose. The Jazz Age ,with its gangsters and bootleggers , as presented here by Brigham , lacks the sinister edge of Weimar Berlin, whilst eschewing the glossy froth of Luhrmann its character dependent upon the quality of the lead performances
The story is set in 1922, the year that began with the publication of Ulysses and ended with The Waste Land. Its brevity and acuity is legendary, sensibly, those attributes are to be seen in this new script.
Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby was first published exactly 100 years ago. Never at any point during the 1925 book’s near century in copyright did Fitzgerald or his Estate allow a musical adaptation .However the copyright expired in America two years ago and now there are two US musical adaptations : Florence Welch’s Gatsby and one directed by Marc Bruni and this.
The film is a blueprint for the portrayal of glamour, excess and Jazz Age opulence. Jen McGinley’s sumptuous set succeeds in shrinking that grand vision onto the Derby stage without losing any of the vibrancy of the period. The stage is split featuring two grand staircases with a connecting balcony from which the music is played.
The film is a blueprint for the portrayal of glamour, excess and Jazz Age opulence. Jen McGinley’s imposing set succeeds in shrinking that grand vision onto the Derby stage without losing any of the vibrancy of the period. The stage is split featuring two grand staircases with a connecting balcony from which the music is played.
Oraine Johnson swaggers and strolls as Jay Gatsby, dancing with style, panache and confidence, suspended between chasing the future and longing for the past: the present means nothing to him. His downfall movingly unfolds.
Fiona Wood and April Nerissa Hudson excel with their vocals. Wood is excellent as the long suffering upwardly mobile wife to lothario husband Tom (Tyler Collins). David Rankine as writer and narrator Nick is the vehicle through which events unfold, he does a seamless job drawing events together.
Although the rags to riches story is the nub of proceedings, contemporaneously we have the Epstein story omnipresent as a cautionary tale of entitled bacchanalian excess and the trial of Sean Diddy Combs’ decadence as an unspoken backdrop.
Wisely, Newman’s adaptation does not attempt to redraft Fitzgerald’s masterpiece as a musical rather than novel, nor does she seek to explore the dark underbelly of the source of all this wealth . Instead she offers a glittering musical romance underpinned by the Tragedy of careless people.
The finale elevates the production onto another level bringing together the holy trinity of Newman’s fluid words, Brigham’s sharp direction, and David Rankine’s outstanding performance as Nick. His closing soliloquys bring the pathos of Shakespearean Tragedy at its best into the auditorium.
A hugely enjoyable evening. Runs until October 25th
I have been a fan for many years and own many of her albums but this was my first opportunity to see her live
Sadly ,I was disappointed. I expected a Jazz, not MOR easy listening set. However we experienced a recital, not a concert performance which would have been better suited to several hundred at Ronnie Scott’s, not a couple of thousand at this prestigious venue.
Her audience interaction was minimal, she was largely obscured to the majority of the audience sitting parallel to the audience offering a profile shrouded by her long hair to some. I had come to hear her playing and singing, not extended double bass and drum solos, worthy as they were.
Of course we were treated to Krall’s exceptional piano dexterity “All or Nothing at All” featured Krall’s eclectic phrasing, “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” simmered slowly. “Do Nothin’ Till You Hear From Me,”, featured her dazzling cascading runs and melodic tension as did a glowing interpretation of “Fly Me to the Moon,”. “In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning and “They Can’t Take That Away from Me,” were melancholic class
But The mood was overwhelmingly sombre and downbeat. The set featured a few spotlights and no video screen and just two supporting musicians. That’s £150,000 box office less petty cash. Nice work if you can get it. Several left before the end.
I have attended numerous music festivals, and some Mind Body Spirit festivals , but never a Poetry festival of over a days’ duration. I decided that Morecambe was the perfect opportunity to redress that omission. What follows is not a review, more a capricious record of some fond memories.
I had never been to Morecambe before. It was far enough away (120miles) to be an adventure but close enough to be a comfortable journey. And over four days there were bound to be some poets I liked. There were.
I travelled alone, but with the poetry community you are never alone, and I knew that I would soon find like minded souls. I was right.
Thursday night was an informal welcome night in the Bath pub. It was a large boozer with a small stage in the corner. I wondered how the locals would react to their boozer being occupied by poets. The pub slowly filled, and filled, any locals engulfed ,till around 250 people squeezed in. “Perhaps we should have poetry nights every night! quipped the landlord.
The totemic, charismatic, organiser Matt Panesh opened proceedings serving up – a course of tantalising poetic hors d’oeuvres. It was a bit like seeing Deep Purple open their set with “Smoke on the water” as the winner of last years local poetry competition and joint winner of this years’, Trystan Lewis, produced a scintillating start combining socially aware poetry with physics (you had to be there). Rosemary Drescher and Hannah Wood subsequently caught my ear before we decamped to the upstairs of the nearly next door pub, an old night club.
“We’re running a little late” joked Matt introducing the strapline for the event. ( who cares I was there for five days!). I had come for the event, not names and to be surprised, and delighted- which i was.
On Friday the event proper commenced including the first evening show at the magnificent, full, 800 seater Winter Gardens.
John Hegley topped the bill with a reliably assured set, but it was his support , Jan Brierton, from Ireland who shone , performing extensively from her book “Everybody is a poem”. Catch her while you can, a great poet and a thoroughly delightful person in person. She gave generously of her time to me.
We then decamped to the Kings Arms for Luke Wright who came on stage at around 10.45pm to a “lubricated” audience- he was in his element. Luke is an extraordinary performer and blazed through an incendiary set combining stand up comedy, poetry, and errr, Luke Wright! Unquestionably the performance of the weekend.
Which posed a problem for the fine Lisa Moore, a gifted poet of a more considered,cerebral style who had to come on stage at 11.45pm … she did well, but through no fault of her own, “The time was out of joint”. I felt for her, and told her as much after.
Graham Parker the pub rock great once declared that :“Saturday Night is dead.” Not in Morecambe it isn’t.
Henry Normal opened the Winter Gardens in the evening, urbane, loquacious and eloquent. Nigel Planer stole the evening. Very wittily he came on stage and informed us how much older we were all looking since he last saw us… he romped through a failed relationship with an older woman, two failed marriages and his return to the original woman in a wonderful, humble, self-deprecating performance that Neil would have been proud of.
At the Kings Arms, Geordie Rowan McAbe ripped it up, and my old friend Jonny Fluffypunk fluffed delightfully.
Sunday afternoon was an absurd smorgasbord of talent at the Kings Arms. Manchester’s Rowland Crowland triumphed alongside John Darwin. Heathers Moulson and Sullivan alongside Anna Somerset and Sharon Green performed as a quartet, “Into the Blue” was a deeply affecting poem about a walk in a bluebell wood to remember a deceased friend
In 2011 I attended “Hit the Ode” a poetry night in Birmingham. I started chatting with an extraordinary young woman who used to live in Cambridge, as I did, who then went on to perform an equally extraordinary set. Her name was Hollie McNish. I had an identical sense of impending greatness when I met Louise Fazackerly, who effortlessly combines personality, poetry, pith and pizzaz. Her dazzling set melded pathos, humour, incisive observation and fun. One of my favourite music albums is by the Verve- “Northern Soul”- it sums her, and her poetry up perfectly
Yet at the Winter gardens it was not over. Clare Ferguson Walker blitzed the opening slot, Michael Rosen offered more sedate reflective fare and inexplicably did not reference his outstanding new children’s book “Oh Dear, Look what I got” the natural successor to “Bear Hunt”, but to be graced with his presence was enough. Three of my grandchildren now have a signed dedicated copy each – thanks Michael!
What is the Morecambe poetry festival like? When buying a festival t shirt I discovered that they were out of stock of my size. “Don’t worry” said a volunteer who was the same size as me, you can have mine in an unopened packet…. A word of advice to newcomers. I arrived on the Thursday and left on the Monday morning, essential if you want the full experience and can afford the time.
It returns 18/20th sept 2026, I shall be there, will you?
A fan once said to legendary Liverpool football manager Bill Shankly:
‘To you football is a matter of life or death!’ , he replied: ‘Listen, it’s more important than that’.
The two great loves of my life are football and theatre. I approached this production with trepidation. Could it do justice to either? Football plays are thin on the ground. Peter Terson’s 1967, “Zigger Zagger”, and that is about it. There is a reason for this, it is a very difficult subject to realise convincingly on stage. That difficulty is compounded currently by the wave of nationalist political sentiment popularly expressed by England flag displays swathed in a myriad definitions of what England is about. The moment is both auspicious and dangerous. This production is rewritten from the 2023 original to incorporate subsequent events. This review offers no narrative as there are a number of surprise delights. Rupert Goold directs with vim and vigour, bringing playwright James Howard’s script alive, a local Nottingham boy made good.
Centre stage is David Sturzaker as Gareth. He is magnificent, from my front row seat every trademark eyelash flutter and facial nuance was apparent as he journeys from failed penalty taker to the most successful England Manager since Sir Alf Ramsey.
At his side is sports psychologist Pippa Grange ( Samantha Womack). Womack is a revelation on stage freed from the constraints of her television roles- most notably with East Enders.
The cast of twenty three is massive, how the production can make money is beyond me. The story of the cultural and psychological development of Southgate is interspersed by numerous hilarious comic character cameos ( Allardyce/ Taylor/ Capello/ Boris Johnson/ Theresa May) and a script with laugh out loud comedy.
Yet Howards’ script gently, and powerfully touches on racism, masculinity and national identity in a way which illuminates rather than shouts, and, unlike the England team itself, is consistently, entertaining. Multi- layered, it explores the national team, Southgate himself , our own collective sense of national identity , and how we deal with the past, and trauma, “Dear England is , in the theatrical sense, not the political sense, a populist play. with the audience encouraged to join with the songs “Sweet Caroline ” , “World in Motion ” and “Three Lions” . The terraces meet the stalls.
Director Rupert Goold, choreographer Ellen Kane, and designer Es Devlin combine to create a confident, bombastic feel to the production. A circular floor and ceiling lit circular surround put its characters literally in the spotlight.
If you love theatre, but hate football – or vice versa – I would heartily recommend you watch Dear England, which runs until Saturday, September 27 and continues on National tour
“I always think: ‘What if this is the first play someone ever sees?’ That’s always in my head, whatever the subject matter,” he comments that he didn’t grow up with the theatre, and saw his first play in London in his 20s: “I don’t have an arty family.”
Therefore, he was very aware that it was the football story that attracted thousands of people to see a straight play for the first time in the West End.
This made the opportunity to give the play a regional premiere and a tour even more vital: “I advocated very strongly for it… It’s the national game and it’s the National Theatre. It should go around the nation.”
Garyswordz 