Today we let Nathan take the reigns and talk about the challenges of writing a one-person show
I’m an incredibly nostalgic and sentimental person.
Whether it’s the books I read, the films I watch or the music I listen to, I’m always drawn to stories that revisit the past through a modern lens. There’s something romantic about looking back at the people we once were with new understanding. That’s always been the kind of work I’ve wanted to create.
The spark for They’re Just Small Town (Northern) Lads came around four years ago whilst I was watching This Is England. I remember thinking how much I’d love to see a story that reflected the world I grew up in: a mixed-race kid on a small council estate in the north of England during the early 2000s; Burberry caps, happy hardcore, WKD, Turkey Twizzlers… Y’know: Proper chav culture. A world where warmth, humour and community existed alongside the casual racism, homophobia and misogyny that, for me, defined that time.
I realised I wasn’t just nostalgic for those memories, I wanted to build a world that captured them.
“Writing a one-person show comes with its own specific challenges because you’re constantly switching hats between playwright and performer.“
Last year I premiered an earlier version of the show at the Fringe. The audience and critical response far exceeded my hopes, but I walked away knowing I was yet to bring my vision to life. Rather than polishing what already existed, I decided to start again, which turned out to be the hardest creative decision I’ve ever made.
I kept the same period and many of the same lived experiences, but everything else changed. New characters, new structure, new themes.
One of the most important decisions I made here was bringing director Amanda Huxtable onto the project. As a director of Jamaican heritage, she brings an invaluable perspective to the story. Her insight has helped deepen the show’s exploration of identity and belonging while grounding those characters in an authenticity I couldn’t have achieved alone.
Writing a one-person show comes with its own specific challenges because you’re constantly switching hats between playwright and performer. As a writer, you want to include every memory, every observation and every idea. As an actor… You’re reminded that the piece has to move and breathe, and it has to live in front of an audience.
I think perhaps the biggest lesson I learnt though, is trusting that an audience doesn’t need every theme explained in dialogue. Throughout the play I’ve hidden visual and narrative details that reward careful attention without demanding it. That, to me, is the beauty of theatre. It gives us pause for thought.
As rehearsals draw to a close, we’re discovering new moments every day. From the physical language of the piece to a soundscape built from cassette clicks, VHS static and the unmistakable sounds of the early internet.
“I remember thinking how much I’d love to see a story that reflected the world I grew up in: a mixed-race kid on a small council estate in the north of England during the early 2000s…”
For my audience at Fringe 2026, I hope you leave the theatre thinking not only about all the nostalgia, but also your own formative years. What you’ve inherited, and what you’ll choose to pass on.
If even only a few people do, then I’ll feel the incredibly difficult journey of bringing new work to the Edinburgh Fringe has been far more than worthwhile.
Welcome to The Phoenix Remix 
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