I’m in one of the UK’s leading Northern theatres, sat opposite a professional dramaturg. (If you don’t know what a dramaturg is, that’s fine, nobody does, the point is, this woman is a guru.) I’m meeting her to chat about this ‘being a playwright’ thing and get advice on what I should do to keep it going. I look at her like she’s an oracle, wide-eyed, nervous. She pauses. Takes a sip of her coffee. Looks at me. Sighs, and says:

“Move to London.”

This is not what I wanted to hear.

When I leave Cambridge, I’ll face a choice: stay up North, or move to London. I thought I’d already pledged my allegiance. I wore my badge with honour, and if I was going to make it as a playwright, surely I was going to do it, to quote Elbow’s Guy Garvey, ‘in the town where they know what I’m like and don’t mind.’ But here was someone who worked at a regional theatre telling me to move to London. What was going on?

But you don’t really realise that you’re Northern until you’re in the South, when people start mimicking the way you say, ‘Hiya love’.

I didn’t know I was Northern until I got to Cambridge. I mean, I knew I was born in Manchester, raised in Merseyside. But you don’t really realise that you’re Northern until you’re in the South, when people start mimicking the way you say, ‘Hiya love’. And I suppose my awareness of my Northernness, and, with it, my pride in my Northernness, was heightened by my experience of the Cambridge Theatre Scene.

(I’d like to note that the word ‘Northern’ is a tricky thing and raises one of the problems I’ve found in Cambridge Theatre: the idea that ‘the North’ is a homogenous wilderness that materialises at some point on the M6. I can only write from my own experience. Of course, certain areas of the South face similar problems, so in this article I’ll be focusing largely on London, acknowledging that ‘the South’ is also not a homogenous wilderness. Nevertheless, it’s ludicrous how many times I’ve heard people talk about doing a ‘Northern’ accent without specifying which bit of the North they mean. Scouse? Manc? Geordie? Anyway, as they say 'up North' let’s get back t’ point or summat.)

My experience of what theatre was, or could be, was dramatically different.

Growing up, my experiences of theatre were largely going to the Royal Exchange Theatre, the Liverpool Everyman and fringy venues like the Unity, and 3 Minute Theatre (based in Affleck’s Palace – Manchester’s haven for all the goths and the geeks). Coming to Cambridge, I felt a bit behind. I hadn’t seen nearly as much as a lot Southern thesps, hadn’t been going to the National since I was 8, and couldn’t join in on how good The Ferryman was. My experience of what theatre was, or could be, was dramatically different. I was used to a Scouse audience, an audience unafraid to participate, to let you know what they thought. I was used to theatre that took pride in its regional identity and plays where people only did RP accents if they were taking the piss.

There’s an implicit arrogance to the attitudes of some who grew up with the London theatre scene – an expectation that I’ll know what’s been on at the Donmar, whereas if I asked, I doubt many people in Cambridge could name three theatres north of Birmingham.

This isn’t to slam the West End – yes, it’s good, but it’s not the only thing out there, and to ignore regional theatre is to diminish the range of beautiful and exciting stories we could be telling. 

I’d like to believe that if you’re a good playwright, if you write good plays, you will be successful regardless of where you are. 

So why was I being told to move to the big smoke? Regional theatres tend to have more commitment to the individual development of artists from their area. The Royal Exchange had been encouraging me to write since I was in school, and the literary department at the Everyman was happy to meet me when I was just 16. The amount these places invest in their local communities is outstanding.

London, by contrast, has exposure. When Anna Jordan’s Yen opened at the Royal Exchange in 2015, it had countless pull-factors – a Bruntwood winner, directed by bright-young-thing Ned Bennett. But ‘industry people’ just weren’t coming. It is very hard to get agents to leave London. It was only a five-star review from the Guardian in the show’s final week that had them coming in droves. This led to a run at the Royal Court, and suddenly it was a huge success. This is the thing – you can have a play on at one of the UK’s leading regional theatres and it won’t be picked up by ‘the industry’, but you get a play on in a tiny pub theatre in Camden, and suddenly you’re the big I am.

It’s not ideal, and the lack of regional representation in Cambridge Theatre feels like a precursor to the London-centrism that pervades British theatre more broadly. I’d like to believe that if you’re a good playwright, if you write good plays, you will be successful regardless of where you are. I’m not a fan of treating the theatre world like a game, but suddenly 18 months in London, picking up as much experience as I can, and then moving back up North where the rent is cheaper (and the Tube isn’t a thing) seems like an option.

I’m not sure what’s going to happen when I leave university, but I hope at least in my final year I will get to see more regional representation in Cambridge Theatre. It would be a gradual shift, but we can get the ball rolling. And next time you fancy seeing something, try looking further afield. Maybe try Leeds Playhouse, or Live Theatre Newcastle. Take a risk – it will be worth it. (The train journey isn’t that bad. Pull your finger out.)