Like all coincidences, it feels both bizarre and perfectly obvious that Russell Tovey and Jaime Winstone have known each other for years. The two actors spent their adolescence in Essex, though they were hardly neighbours: Tovey grew up in Billericay, and Winstone moved from London to Roydon in her early teens. But he happened to go to the same drama club as Winstone’s older sister, Lois. “She’s been in my parents’ house, in the garden,” he says, nodding over his teriyaki lunch at Jaime, a dishevelled figure sitting beside him. “She was so cool. I remember I saw you once in a club, you had a pair of snowboots on, and I thought: ‘She knows what she’s doing.’”
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Tovey’s sideline is writing; he’d like to get a play produced, but can never be bothered to write the new drafts that theatres invariably demand. What are his plays about? He falters. “Um, I’m obsessed with the dark side of Soho: the dealers and the prostitutes and the rent boys. And I’ve g …
See the full article from “The Guardian”
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