1. Your journey to establishing yourself in theatre has been anything but conventional, including facing bankruptcy and working multiple jobs. How have those experiences shaped your approach to theatre and storytelling, particularly in a traditionally inaccessible industry?

I’m a massive advocate for artists living before they start making work. Or living as they are making work. Working class creatives have a necessity to have to live to survive while making work, and that’s why the stories they tell feel as rich as they do and have a whole load of heart. I’ve had a ridiculous number of jobs since I was a teenager, and have had the joy of being able to meet and work with a stack of different people from different places. The amount of young people I meet who come from privileged backgrounds who want to “change the world” with their work whilst not really knowing about the world is astonishing. I sound like an old man saying this! But there’s a reason why some parts of society can’t engage with bigger issues – because they have big issues closer to home to them. I think that’s an issue right now. Everything is so polarised and black and white and there’s little conversation about the complexity of this. It’s a cliché, but if you haven’t walked in someone else’s shoes, how do you know how they would feel? I weirdly feel privileged about the fact I come from my background. I’ve had setbacks and struggles, and it has given me clarity in the stories I want to tell. It’s also made me hard as nails when taking rejection and knowing I’m not owed anything. Nobody is. It’s an utter privilege to work in this industry. (Hence why the privileged majority get to the top quicker than the rest of us.) 

2. Theatre N16 had a profound impact on the arts community, programming 300 new pieces of work. What drove your decision to create a space with no hire fees and full support for emerging artists, and how do you see that ethos continuing with your work at The Laurels?

It really came from how difficult it was to get a starting point, having anything staged on the fringe. So many fringe theatres – that were no frills – either were charging ludicrous hires or had guarantees which meant people like myself and others just couldn’t get in. The risk was all on the artists. So, at the time with youthful 20-something energy, I thought I could cut these costs for the artists by taking on risk myself. Looking back, it was shortsighted and foolishly ambitious and definitely led to me having health issues – but still it was all worth it. It led to so much brilliant work getting seen which would have just disappeared. Laurels is similar in the sense we are trying to break down barriers for class again, but the model is different this time. We are trying to find pots of money to give to artists no matter if a show sells to get them seen and heard. It’s then about saying “go and have some ambition and aim for the stars”. The risk is mitigated this time, with us having a full nighttime operation, but that comes with its own stresses. The nighttime operation is linked with the theatre, to try and coerce people who’ve had a dance on a night out with their pals to stumble into a black box space and see some magic play out. 

3. The loss of your business partner Richard Jenkinson was a pivotal moment in both your personal and professional life. How did that tragedy, along with the financial challenges you faced, influence your resilience and your vision for theatre moving forward?

It made me take a long long look at myself. I won’t beat around the bush, it really did nearly kill me. It was a culmination of things. Theatre N16 lost a lease with very little notice at the same time Richard was poorly and my mental health was really struggling. Everything happened over a very short period and left me with a stack of debt. The company I had set up to help theatre artists was owing money to theatre artists. It really swallowed me up at the start, but it was either fight or flight and I chose fight. I knew if I had to bankrupt myself, I would never work in the industry again and all of the hard work would be tarnished. So I did what I was taught – I worked stacks of jobs, in an Italian restaurant, selling boilers and then running the bar at the local golf club. I paid it all off and it was the biggest relief ever. Then, during the pandemic, I decided to open a tapas bar with a small stage to try and start mounting theatre work on a very small scale with more solid revenue streams. This eventually became the business plan that became Laurels. Now, we have work being made with national organisations, a stack of artists who’ve been supported and a scheme under Richard’s name giving out £20k in cash a year to theatre makers. I think to sum it up I can say “my best work comes from adversity”. Both off and on stage. 

4. Gerry and Sewell has already gained acclaim and is now set to open at the Theatre Royal Newcastle. What inspired you to bring this particular story to the stage, and how has your personal journey informed the direction and production of the play?

I wanted to adapt the novel back when I was in London running Theatre N16 but the rights weren’t available, so it made sense when they did to use it as Laurels’ first full production. Reiterating again, I think the fact that I had more life experience meant I had a better understanding and clarity of how I would do it this time. The backdrop of the piece is football and Newcastle United which was my first love. However, it is really about a couple of lads from nowt chasing a dream. It really echoes my own story and I think that’s why I love it so much and have such a bond with it. I can’t thank Jonathan Tulloch, who wrote the novel, enough for trusting me with his characters. And I can’t thank enough the audiences and theatres who have taken the punt on getting it to where it is now. Going from near bankruptcy to a number one stage in five years feels incredibly special and, again, is an utter privilege. Stories like Gerry and Sewell’s very rarely get on these big stages. Being a Geordie is hard enough to be seen in theatreland, but being poor as well? It’s very rare. I hope it acts as a bit of a lightbulb moment for artists in the region and other similar regions to begin to say out loud that their stories deserve to be told on these stages.

5. You’ve been vocal about wanting to make the arts more accessible to working-class communities. What steps are you taking at Laurels and in your broader career to break down the barriers that often prevent people from entering or engaging with the theatre world?

Firstly, cash and space. They are the two main factors that hold artists back (obviously). It does feel tougher than ever right now to be a theatremaker, with so many artists going for the same pots. We’re trying a bit of a dual method – to find commercial support at the same time as support from trusts and foundations. We’ve done lots of good stuff so far, but want to do so much more. It’s obviously a daily battle to keep the lights on, and at the same time, find the means of support for the artists. The other thing is trying to instill a bit of a mindset change with artists and companies. This is again two-fold. First is this really heavy narrative going on that it’s artists versus organisations right now. I think artists need to have a better understanding of how a lot of organisations are genuinely run by artists, and that everyone is in the same boat. Once this has been communicated, I think better partnerships can be built and venues can work side by side with artists and other companies. But this is more of an education strand: artists make art and don’t necessarily know the ‘business’. We are currently working on how we can train individuals and make this more apparent. A full-time rep is being discussed, which is my dream for Laurels: a real old-school, warts-and-all one where the company members do every aspect of what the building has to do to survive. But we will wait and see if we can figure that out. The other strand is being bold on ambition. I’m still working out if this is a class thing or a regional thing very apparent in the Northeast. I want us to change our tactics, and instead of aiming for mid-scale, aim our work for bigger stages. When you’re beaten down, whether that be because of your call or geography, no wonder you don’t want to reach for the stars. But we want to change that completely. I said on the opening of Laurels that I promise within 10 years, a show you had seen on its stages would be in the West End. Gerry and Sewell is on a number one stage in three years, and we have plenty more where that came from.

I’m bored of seeing middle class whinging being played out in every theatre. The time for our voices is now. And we’ll be as loud as we are at the footy on them. We will spend more money on your bars that will in turn support the artists. Or that’s the plan, in black and white.