Gypsy John



A Production Manager is a Jack of all trades but the master of none (or so people think). They can rarely build a flat, weld a joint or paint a cloth, however, they 'know a man who can'! And therein lies the skill.

John Ashworth or 'Gypsy John' could build, borrow, fudge, steal or plain beat into submission with a lump hammer, practically anything you cold ever need to get a set built and a show on.

John Ashworth is a prince amongst Production Carpenters A combination of skilled craftsman, artisan and northern cub comic, he was my lucky charm and get out of jail free card and I would not embark on a fit-up without him.

There is more than a touch of bromace about this post but I have to paint this picture for you. John arrived at the venue in a 1970's Landrover stacked to the gunnels with tools, timber and enough re-apropirated gaffer tape to keep the Royal Ballet in lino tape for 10 years...and there was a dog called Ben. I make no bones about this, John was my touch-stone. I don't know if this was due to a major mistrust in my own abilities but I would make no major decision without running it past my 'Bernard Manning meets Sean Kenny' right and left hand man.

John rolled his own fags and , every important decision was punctuated by the slow and calculated foraging for paper, backy and zippo while Gypo John found the solution to the problem. I have to expand  on the extremely non-PC nick-name. John could find you anything. You could be in some shit-hole of a venue, I won' name names, Sunderland Empire and be in desperate need of some specific item. May be a bit of packing that you know isn't on the truck, a specifically sized length of bolt or something plain bizarre. John would slope off and in ten minutes, you had the very item you needed. No names, no pack-drill, it was just there. How did he come by it? Because he was Gypsy John.
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John had a sidekick called Carl. Young. Keen.  Handsome,  and funny as fuck. John, Carl and I toured the UK with productions of varying quality. Picture a sequence from a 1930's movie as the city sign posts flash zoom towards the camera, Newcastle, Liverpool, Darlington...we played them all.

There are some stories in-between but I need to recount the time that Carl almost caused me to die laughing. Carl and I were sitting in the stalls at the Hamersmith Apollo. We were 7 weeks in to a punishing 3  month production period for 'Doctor Dolittle'. A multi-million pound sure fire failure which combined the genius of the Jim Henson Organisation with theme park technology and the household name that was Phillip Scholfield...oh, and Julie Andrews as the Polynesia the Parrot!

On-stage rehearsals were in full swing with the stage was set up for the Circus Exterior set. A miracle of design by the genius Mark Thompson who produced a filllini-esque image of three primary coloured Circus caravans in exaggerated perspective.

After a couple of hours of 'There's never been anything like it' placing and finessing the cast broke for coffee. Carl and I were drifting between snoozing and talking through the jobs list when Carl elbowed me and said "look it's Gypsy John"!. I looked up towards the stage and there he was. John, with fag in mouth, poking his head out of a caravan and fixing a shutter. Here was Gypsy John in his spiritual home. It was perfect. It was funny. It was the ultimate tag line for a ten year running gag and I laughed until the tears ran down my legs.









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