The first thing that struck me about the thing I had in my hands was how easy it was to read. This was not the kind of language I had come across in English lessons, a language I found impossible on account of some dyslexia...In short, there was no right or wrong in here, there was just these characters speaking and that was the only truth that mattered.
What was it about this filth-ridden play, set in Lancashire in the 1980s, cataloguing the surreal comings-and-goings of a single, depressed street, that spoke so directly to a sheltered young Jewish boy from north London? I remember finding the protagonist thrilling. A swashbuckling, charismatic, broken man called Scullery who stank of danger.
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