Portfolio
Some of my best video content from the past year.
Don't ask me why the preview thumbnails look funny; if I knew, I would be a billionaire.
Unexpected Backchat
More twists and turns than a Hitchcock thriller.
That Child-Catcher Musical
I don't know if you've seen Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, but I've always felt the Child-Catcher was misunderstood. Here we reclaim his legacy.
Jingle Street Trailer
A punchy trailer I made for the Edinburgh run of my musical Jingle Street. We had to use demo audio and hastily-filmed video, but it was an effective way of broadcasting our reviews.
Mr Tickle The Musical
A two-minute musical of beloved children's book Mr Tickle. Features a breathtaking punk anthem you'll want to hear again and again.
Writing
I also make words - some of my nicer efforts are below.
On 'Playhouse' Being A Great Word
I think ‘playhouse’ might be the loveliest word in the English language. Two of the nicest possible things – play and a house – have been made one, unhyphenated as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The imaginative space of play married blissfully with the concrete space of house. The wildness of play tempered by the domesticity of house. Playhouse. The opposite of a workhouse, and surely a vast improvement on the poorhouse, the plague house or indeed the doghouse. What’s not to like?
Read the full article here: https://apprenticejoe.wordpress.com/2023/03/09/on-the-word-playhouse/
It’s even a joy to say: playhouse, big long diphthongs and a hushed h creating a wild undefined midriff sandwiched by a playfully plosive pl and a snug sibilant s. I have no objection to the word theatre, but I do rather associate it with getting lobotomised, or tonsillected. Such things would not happen in a playhouse, site of all that is lovely. To think that the Puritans once tried to shut them down! It’s almost enough to put one off Puritanism altogether.
Still, the status of the playhouse is a vexed question even today. As a child, it’s considered acceptable to have one of these fine structures in your garden – indeed if you don’t, I’ve heard nobody comes to your eighth birthday party, not that I would know, or would even care actually; in fact I’m totally over it. But beyond a certain degree of maturity, you’re not supposed to go in the playhouse: you should be practising your cello, or studying for your exams, or do you think my Audi is going to clean itself? You’re supposed to tumble down into the real world, and do real, practical things, not the fantastical jaunts of the playhouse.
Ten Great Excuses to Keep Not Socialising Even Now Lockdown is Over
We can all agree, however much we may pretend to the contrary, that being forced not to see other humans generated the best and most enjoyable twelve weeks of all time. Life briefly became almost bearable, unimpeded by the tedious affectation of affection for our neighbours, colleagues and families. The natural human desire not to come within six feet of anybody was suddenly socially acceptable, even smiled upon. There were no parties, no overlong church services, no poetry recitals. At no point did you forget the name of a long-distant friend, or get caught by a colleague in KFC while alone with a Family Bucket. Nobody cajoled you into being part of a sexy car wash. For the first time, you were free.
Clearly, the easing of lockdown jeopardises all of this. It puts under threat what I would now describe as the true British way of life. As a steadfast patriot, I will not stand by and watch this happen. To see off this looming threat to our happy antisocial way of life, I’ve come up with these Ten Great Excuses for Not Socialising Even Now Lockdown is Over – all tried and tested and proffered now for the good of the Great British Public.
1. I No Longer Speak English
This is a great excuse partly because it is true. Across twelve weeks of seeing and speaking to no-one but my wife, we found our language had evolved so comprehensively that we were unable to communicate with normal people. When you haven’t called anyone anything except “pumpkin” or “chipmunkle” for three months, it’s very difficult not to use them when addressing friends and lecturers. We also began placing a B on the end of all words ending in vowels or Ds, such that basic conversations include the phrases “How are youb? Goob thankyoob! Whatchoob wanna doob?” As well as being a great excuse, this saccharine new dialect has the added bonus that if anyone does somehow coax you to their party, once it’s over they never want to see you again.
2. I Am Now Too Fat To Get Out The Door
Lockdown has not been kind to any of us, apart from weirdos who used the time productively to become fit, which I personally feel should have been banned. My experience of sitting constantly on my backside, and of not having been more than five metres away from a biscuit tin since February, has certainly helped me bag a few extra pounds, which I think will help in the forthcoming apocalypse. Obviously I haven’t had reason to try and get out my front door for some months now, but I very much suspect I am too large, and even if not I think it was wise of me not to risk my self-esteem by trying.
3. All My Masks Are In The Wash
This one is gold dust – an excuse so bullet-proof there’s almost no way past it. For me, this is the new ‘All My Pants Are In The Wash’, which I famously used to get out of Holly Woodley’s ninth birthday party (Burger King – no thanks). Better yet, my mask-washing may be planned out some days in advance, meaning the future tense – ‘all my masks are in the wash that day’ – is also viable, putting this on a par with the iconic ‘I’m washing my hair that day’ which Holly Woodley so effectively used against invitations to my sixteenth and seventeenth birthday parties (Portsmouth Textiles Museum was, in retrospect, a mistake).