After Hours

This week I’ve been listening to Scroobius Pip’s excellent Distraction Pieces podcast. Pip is a spoken word poet known mainly for the 2007 hit Thou Shalt Kill. Polemically semi-serious, it boasts such lyrics as, ‘Thou Shalt not worship Pop Idols or follow Lost Prophets,’ and ‘Thou shalt not think that any man over 30 that plays with a child is a paedophile. Some people are just nice.’ Since Thou he’s toured extensively, gathering enough celebrity to bring him to the attention of casting directors; thence his role in Taboo, the recent Tom Hardy drama. This straddling between music and acting makes for a fantastic podcast, since he has excellent contacts in both worlds. Going back through the archive, I’ve managed to hear his interviews with punk legend Billy Bragg; actor-director Paddy Considine and Four Lions’ Riz Ahmed. My favourite episode though was with writer John Osborne (not that one, the other one).

I won’t allege to know the whole of Osborne’s back catalogue, but I fell in love with his writing when I read a Stewart Lee piece about the BBC. A few years ago, it really did seem that there was a lot of Tory pressure on the corporation to make massive cuts; consequently, there was a feeling amongst artists that the institution was in danger. Lee references being stuck on the North Orbital with just the radio for amelioration. He listens to Osborne’s Don’t Need The Sunshine, a paean to the seaside that evokes memories of windswept picnics and sand-shovel burials. By the end of the Radio 4 programme Lee along with his family were in tears – why? Partly over it’s beauty, and partly because he knew no other radio station would commission it. I bought the book it was based on immediately.

I think Osborne appeals to me because he chooses topics that I’m passionate about. Don’t Need The Sunshine has him cross the country, describing his experiences at the different seaside resorts. Every summer my family traded a house for a beach hut, making Swanage beach our home for two weeks. Unsurprisingly, reading Osborne’s book about the life and death of this yellow world struck a particular chord. Another one of his book’s Radio:Head has him listening to a different radio station each day, underlining how diverse our wireless is. In his most celebrated offering, John Peel’s Shed, Osborne tells a tale of how he came to acquire the DJ’s old records and the impact they had on him. Seaside, radio and music: three of my favourite things. Osborne is going to Edinburgh this year with a show about the Radio Times; it’s almost as if he has focus grouped my brain for ideas.

John Osborne

So I love John Osborne’s work. He writes quintessentially English pieces: quiet stories that celebrate the mundane; all channeled through a wry eye for observation. In the interview he reminded of the sitcom he co-wrote with Molly Naylor. One summer drunk in the pub, Naylor asked him what would he most like to do; Osborne replied, ‘write a sitcom.’ From there, the pair went away and threw around story ideas. Inspired by the collaborative process, it wasn’t long before the two had a sitcom. Through a mutual friend, these made their way to Craig Cash, co-writer of The Royle Family. In The Royle Family, Cash played foil to Caroline Aherne; but since then he’s gone out alone, directing the under-rated Early Doors and The Café (I don’t have an adjective for this as I haven’t seen it. Like I said last week, I put being honest before your entertainment.) Having Cash on board was a boon for the pair: he’s an expert in low-fi, naturalistic set-ups- something these novices needed.   

After listening to the podcast, I thought I have to watch this sitcom. I tried YouTube, but nothing was there. I tried iTunes, but nothing was there. I tried Donald Trump’s brain, but … In the end I went onto Twitter, thinking I’ll tweet John Osborne and ask him how I could get ahold of it. I’m not even on the tweets so this gives you some idea how desperate I was. Looking at Osborne’s Twitter, the first tweet that came up answered my question: I could access the sitcom by signing up to Sky's NOW TV. So that’s what I did. Signed up to the online streamers 14 day trial and cancelled the thing immediately. Not since BT pulled the Champions League rug from under Rupert Murdoch’s feet has the man been so stitched up. This week I intend to watch The Trip, Mid Morning Matters and The Affair without giving the man a single penny. Will the billionaire Rupert Murdoch lose sleep over £6 a month? In my experience the wealthiest people are the ones who look longest at the bill, so I’m thinking, yes, my derring-do raid on his largess will send him spiralling. I reckon he'll be at home worrying: Will everyone find this loophole? Will families share their debit cards to co-ordinate successive 14 day free-trials? Will the ingenuity of this blogger unleash a butterfly effect on my empire? Ladies and gentleman, I’ve taken from Rupert Murdoch; I suggest you do the same. Just remember to cancel the thing, otherwise the fucker will be laughing all the way into Jerry Hall's cleavage.

I fought the Murdoch, and I won.

After Hours is a sitcom centred on the writers’ chief passions: music and radio. It begins with Willow logging on to the Internet radio show After Hours hosted by the hugely amiable, Lauren and Ollie. Soon after, the episode shifts to a café where Willow meets his girlfriend Jasmine. Greeting his order is Lauren, a voice he immediately recognises. Willow’s excitement at meeting her is palpable. Once seated though, his joy turns to despair as he’s let go by the woman he loves. Kind and empathetic, Lauren offers him a role on the radio show. Touched, Willow smiles. 

“I bet you’re glad you came in here now…. Other than being dumped,” backtracks Lauren.

So this is the set-up for a sitcom: a boy’s journey out of his bedroom into the bosom of the group. The transformation of Willow from being the gooseberry of the gang to the apple of every girl’s eye is a little fairytale; yet it is done with such charm you'll happily go along with it. In writing the sitcom, Osborne sad he and Naylor wanted to write a comedy for 6 Music listeners, and by having a shy protagonist they have an Indie frontman that viewers can get behind. The music choices are sublime too with tracks by The Smiths, Hefner and Pixies all featuring. This is a comedy for outsiders soundtracked by music for outsiders.

The cast of After Hours.

Over the course of After Hours we’re introduced to more characters with Willow’s friend Chris being a favourite. Episode two finds him downcast: his house has been broken into, but he vows to protect it to the death – apart from when he’s walking the dog or down the pub. Later, he informs the gang of what was taken: “They took everything. Money. Laptops. Passports. Both teles. Mum’s big wok.” There is a school of though that surrealism is easy; that all you have to say is “panda” incongruously to get a laugh – those people are wrong. Good comedians know the exact word, so it’s with these writers. I laughed from ear to ear on “Mum’s big wok.” It’s perfect. 

We also get to know Willow’s dad (Ardal O’Hanlon) and his friend, Geoff (John Thompson). In a hilarious incident, Willow’s mum tells her out of work husband about a job going in the vapid supermarket, he replies, “I wouldn’t whizz on it if it were on fire.” His wife chastises him like she would her son: “Stop showing off just because Geoff is here.” This isn’t the comedy of cruelty, but the laughs of the lovely.

After Hours cemented my love for all things John Osborne. So why not give it a go, all whilst picking Murdoch’s pockets. Lovely stuff.

After Hours can be pick-pocketed on NOW TV