In 2007 Philip began writing for the stage and received his first full production in 2008 at The Union Theatre with "It's Behind You!". He followed up the following year with "Oh No It Isn't!" and various subsequent productions on the London Fringe.
In 2010 he penned his first Doctor Who audio for Big Finish Productions.
In 2016 he won the C21 Drama Script Prize with "Euthanasia In Suburbia".
In 2018 he received his first commission for EastEnders and successfully passed BBC Writersroom's shadow scheme for Casualty.
He's since written several episodes for both plus one for Holby City as well as developing his own original series.
He's very interested in sci fi, domestic noir thrillers and family dramas.
I am THIS close to staging an intervention. I said to her, I said “Joany. You cannot call a baby Netflix.” But that’s my daughter all over. Anything to shock. We bought her a swing ball and she just gyrated against it for Quality Street from the boys next door.
How are you getting on in there, love? Have you tried the ruby chiffon yet? I do think it’s a far better contrast for your skin tone than that beige. You were melting into the paintwork if you don’t mind me saying, even with the gold brocade. And as mother of the bride, you don’t want to be a shrinking violet. I certainly wouldn’t.
Not that I’ll get the chance. The only thing my Joany’s wedded to is causing a ruckus. Anti-Capitalism, anti-racism. I swear she only got pregnant cos she thought antenatal involved placards.
‘Course, now it’s all Greta Thumbug. Not being funny, but she wasn’t fussed about too much plastic in the world when she wanted breast implants.
I’m hoping motherhood might calm her down but I’m sure she thinks baby’s just another thing to put a slogan on. Thank god we talked her back from tattooing the poor little mite.
In our day, baby came first, right? Your own issues went to the bottom of the to do list. Not that I had…
How’s that fitting love? Let me now if you need a hand with a zipper. Or a bigger size.
Bet you and your daughter are close. Someone to share things with. Not clothes, obviously. No one wants to be mutton dressed as chops do they? But deep down stuff. Sort of things you can’t even tell a best friend. Not unless you want it broadcast on Foghorn FM again. Bet you have lovely girly chats. The last time me and Joany were on the same wavelength it was the ECG for my caesarean.
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