Scottee is troubled by his childhood. He grew up on a council estate in London, with no positive role models and no money on the table. The family made do – they got by but the fear and shame has stayed with him for a lifetime. The self-styled fat council queen delivers the first half of his monologue as a stand-up routine – each anecdote about his upbringing boasts a punchline and the middle classes are lampooned regularly.
The artist is confident and occasionally abrasive, supporting his case with Home Office statistics on poverty and explaining how domestic violence, abuse and misogyny were simply engendered in his community.
As the pace of the monologue changes so does the direction. Slowly at first, as if the memory of his youth is physically painful. Scottee finally drops the façade, uncovering a wall of mirrors and insists that the middle-class audience confronts the harsh reality of his upbringing.
Leafing morbidly through a family album, his story takes on a different tone. It becomes a litany of social failure and despair. With no laughter, no punchlines, the horrors of his early life come clearly in to focus. The humour has been a coping mechanism, a learned behaviour to masque the unpalatable truth.