Camden Fringe: Kaleidoscope Collective Arts launches with Biscuits for Breakfast

Ahead of the company’s first production, director Georgia Grace Gavin and producer Jon-Luke Goodman talk food poverty, working-class access to the arts, and why they chose Hackney Foodbank as a partner

Biscuits for Breakfast by Gareth Farr is the first production from Kaleidoscope Collective Arts, a new company built around working-class stories and lived experience. The play follows a couple, Paul and Joanne, as the cost of living crisis begins to press in on their relationship, described as tender and funny as well as thought-provoking. For every ticket sold, the company is donating a non-perishable food item to Hackney Foodbank, with a collection point at every performance for anyone who wants to give more.

Founder and director Georgia Grace Gavin and co-producer Jon-Luke Goodman talked to Red Bus Londinium about the company’s founding mission, the decision to tell this story through one relationship rather than more broadly, and the barriers they’ve faced getting into the industry themselves.

Red Bus: Biscuits for Breakfast is Kaleidoscope Collective Arts’ first production. What made this the right play to launch the company with, and what do you want it to say about who you are as a company going forward?

Georgia Grace Gavin: Biscuits for Breakfast felt like the right first production because it reflects everything Kaleidoscope Collective Arts hopes to be. As a company, we’re interested in creating theatre that feels honest and relevant to the people making it. We want to tell stories that entertain audiences while also giving them something to think about long after they’ve left the theatre.

When I first read Gareth Farr’s script, I was struck by how quietly powerful it was. Rather than presenting food poverty as a statistic or a political debate, it explores financial hardship through two people who simply fell for each other. It reminds us that behind every headline are real people, real relationships and impossible decisions.

As a director, I found myself connecting with the play on a very personal level. Whilst my own experiences aren’t identical to Paul and Joanne’s, I recognised many of the emotions and pressures within the story. In a previous relationship, my partner unexpectedly lost their job, and I witnessed first hand what it was like when everyday decisions became questions of survival, choosing between paying essential bills or buying food. That experience gave me a much deeper understanding of the realities the play explores, and it made me feel a real responsibility to approach the story with care and honesty.

That personal connection is also something I hope defines Kaleidoscope Collective Arts. I want the work we create to be led by artists who have a genuine connection to the stories they’re telling, whether that’s through lived experience or something they deeply resonate with. I believe theatre becomes more truthful when the people creating it understand its emotional reality rather than simply observing it from the outside.

Launching Kaleidoscope with this production also says something about who we want to be as a company. We’re not interested in producing work simply because it’s commercially safe or currently fashionable. We want to champion stories that matter to us and build meaningful relationships with the communities those stories represent.

A huge part of Kaleidoscope is also about sharing knowledge. Theatre can often feel like an industry where people are expected to know the rules without anyone ever explaining them. As someone from a working-class background, I know how isolating that can feel. Our aim isn’t to pretend we can remove every barrier, but to be honest about the realities of making theatre, share what we’ve learnt, and make the journey feel a little less daunting for the people coming after us.

More than anything, I want people to look at Kaleidoscope Collective Arts and see a company of working-class creatives proving that our backgrounds are not something to overcome, they’re something to value. We may have had to work harder to get into the room, but we also bring perspectives and lived experiences that make our theatre richer.

If this production says anything about Kaleidoscope, I hope it’s that we’re a company committed to creating excellent theatre while staying connected to the people and experiences that shape it.

Red Bus: The play explores food poverty and financial hardship through the lens of a relationship, rather than more broadly or abstractly. What does that intimacy let you show about the cost of living crisis that a wider-lens approach might miss?

Georgia Grace Gavin: One of the things I love most about Biscuits for Breakfast is that it never allows the audience to distance themselves from the issue. We hear statistics about the cost of living every day, but statistics don’t show what it feels like when two people who love each other have to make impossible decisions together.

By focusing on one relationship, the play explores the emotional impact of financial hardship. It shows the guilt of not being able to provide, the pride that stops people asking for help, the tiny compromises that slowly become normal, and the strain that financial pressure can put on us.

It also reminds us that food poverty doesn’t always look the way people expect. The people experiencing it aren’t simply defined by hardship. They’re funny, caring, intelligent and hopeful. They’re just trying to navigate circumstances that many people could find themselves in.

I think that intimacy also encourages empathy rather than judgement. It’s much harder to make assumptions about someone when you’ve spent ninety minutes laughing with them, understanding them and seeing the world through their eyes. That’s one of theatre’s greatest strengths. It allows us to experience another person’s reality rather than simply hearing about it.

Red Bus: You’re donating a non-perishable food item for every ticket sold, alongside encouraging audiences to bring their own donations. How did the Hackney Foodbank partnership come about, and how has it shaped the way you’re approaching the run?

Georgia Grace Gavin: From the beginning, I knew I didn’t want this production to simply tell a story about food poverty without considering what practical impact we could have alongside it. As Kaleidoscope Collective Arts is committed to combining theatre with meaningful community engagement, it felt important that any partnership was rooted in the community where we would actually be performing. With Biscuits for Breakfast taking place in Hackney, reaching out to Hackney Foodbank felt like the natural place to start.

Speaking with the team there only reinforced that feeling. Hearing about the work they do every day and listening to some of the experiences of the people who rely on the foodbank was incredibly moving. What struck me most was how closely many of those stories reflected the world Gareth Farr had written. It made me realise that Biscuits for Breakfast isn’t an exaggerated example of food poverty, it’s a genuine reflection of the realities many people continue to face today.

That partnership has shaped the production in ways that go far beyond fundraising. For every ticket sold, Kaleidoscope Collective Arts will donate one non-perishable food item to Hackney Foodbank, and we’ll also have a collection point at every performance for anyone who wishes to contribute further. However, its influence has also reached our rehearsal room and the way we’ve approached the characters themselves.

As part of the rehearsal process, we’ve been exploring the everyday realities of financial hardship with the actors. One exercise asks them to consider what happens when you’re standing in a supermarket with a limited budget and every purchase becomes a decision between necessity and preference. Which items do you choose? What do you leave behind? How often do you have to compromise? Many of us are fortunate enough to buy something simply because we enjoy it, but for many people, every item has to justify its place in the basket. Understanding those choices has helped us develop a much deeper appreciation of the emotional reality Paul and Joanne are living through.

For us, donating a food item for every ticket sold isn’t separate from the creative process, it’s an extension of it. The conversations we’ve had with Hackney Foodbank and the work we’ve done in rehearsal have continually informed one another, helping us tell this story with greater honesty and understanding.

Importantly, we never want audiences to feel pressured to donate. Buying a ticket is already contributing a food item through our partnership, and anything beyond that is entirely optional.

Red Bus: The show is billed as tender and funny as well as thought-provoking. Given how heavy some of the material is, where does the humour come from, and what does it let you do that a purely serious treatment couldn’t?

Georgia Grace Gavin: The humour comes from the characters themselves rather than from the situation they’re in. Gareth Farr has written about two people who have fallen for one another, who tease each other, make each other laugh, and continue finding moments of lightness even when life is incredibly difficult.

That feels incredibly truthful to me because people don’t stop laughing simply because they’re struggling. If anything, humour often becomes one of the ways people cope with difficult circumstances, and that’s exactly what makes these moments feel so authentic. Without that warmth, I don’t think the play would have the same emotional impact. The humour allows the audience to invest in Paul and Joanne as people first, rather than seeing them only through the lens of financial hardship.

What I also love about Gareth’s writing is that he gives both characters equal depth. Throughout the play there are moments where you’ll recognise parts of yourself in each of them. They respond to the same circumstances in completely different ways, sometimes balancing one another beautifully, and sometimes exposing the tension that comes from approaching hardship from different perspectives. That’s what makes their relationship feel so believable. Neither of them is right or wrong, they’re simply trying to navigate an impossible situation in the only way they know how.

The humour also creates an important contrast. When an audience laughs together, they’re emotionally invested. That means when the more painful moments arrive, they land with even greater honesty because we’ve already experienced these characters in their fullest sense, not simply through their struggles.

Ultimately, whilst food poverty is the world the play exists within, the story is really about two ordinary people trying to build a life together when the odds are against them. It’s their relationship, and the humanity Gareth brings to it, that stays with you long after the play has finished.

Red Bus: You’ve both spoken about championing working-class stories and addressing barriers to arts access. What have those barriers looked like in your own careers, and how is Kaleidoscope trying to do things differently?

Georgia Grace Gavin: For me, Kaleidoscope Collective Arts was founded from my own experiences of growing up working class and trying to build a career in theatre. Throughout my journey, I encountered many of the barriers that so many working-class artists face.

Some of those barriers are practical. The financial reality of pursuing a career in the arts often means balancing multiple jobs simply to fund the opportunity to create. Producing work, travelling to auditions, undertaking unpaid opportunities and navigating funding applications all require time, money and knowledge that isn’t equally accessible to everyone.

But there are also social barriers that are spoken about far less. Many working-class families value stability because they’ve had to. Careers in the arts can understandably feel risky when you’re raised to prioritise security and paying the bills. That often means you’re pursuing a path that those around you may not fully understand, not through a lack of support or belief, but because there isn’t a clear, sustainable route that they can see.

One of the biggest challenges I experienced wasn’t simply access to opportunities, but access to knowledge. There often seemed to be an unspoken expectation that everyone already knew how the industry worked, how to produce their own work, apply for funding, build professional networks or sustain a freelance career. Those conversations can feel closed off if you haven’t grown up around people already working within the arts.

As a result, many working-class creatives do what they’ve always done: they pull together, volunteer their time, cover each other’s roles and keep creating through determination alone. While that resilience is something I’m incredibly proud of, it can also come at a cost. People sacrifice paid work, stretch themselves beyond their limits and, over time, many incredibly talented artists burn out or leave the industry altogether because making a career sustainable becomes impossible.

Kaleidoscope Collective Arts was born from those experiences. We aren’t a company claiming to remove these barriers or present ourselves as the answer. We face many of the same challenges ourselves. Instead, we want to be honest about what building a career in the arts actually looks like, sharing what we’re learning as we learn it.

As we gain experience, we want to open up conversations around funding, producing, balancing employment alongside creativity, networking, self-producing and the realities of sustaining a career in this industry. Not to discourage people, but to replace uncertainty with understanding, and gatekeeping with openness.

Working-class talent has always existed in abundance. The problem has never been a lack of creativity. Too often, it’s a lack of sustainability. If Kaleidoscope can help even a few artists feel less alone, more informed and more confident that there is a place for them in this industry, then we’re beginning to achieve what we set out to do.

Jon-Luke Goodman: I think the first barrier is even knowing the arts are a viable career path. It’s no secret that the three things you need for any arts project to succeed are money, time and space, and as working-class kids we didn’t have access to any of them. The people you see succeed in the arts often come from a background you don’t recognise, and not seeing yourself there, alongside having to be money-focused from a young age, means you don’t associate the arts as somewhere you belong.

Hard-working, working-class kids are often pushed into, or choose of their own volition, the kind of work that seems more likely to improve their circumstances. The arts, with its volatile freelance work, means that without financial backing behind you, you’re very often not making enough money to pay the bills in the early stages of your career, which doesn’t allow working-class people the space to play, create, explore and fail without potentially drastic financial repercussions.
The arts is about getting into rooms and proving your worth, but for working-class people those rooms are not just hard to get into, many people don’t even know what room they’re looking for. It’s like being given a key to a random room in a hotel and being told to find which room it belongs to, while the person next to you has a map. The stories of nepotism, of sons and daughters and friends of friends getting a chance taken on them, are rife. Networking depends on having the money or free time to see others’ work, which simply isn’t viable if you’re also working forty hours a week to pay your rent alongside your creative work. These are exactly the kinds of narratives we’re looking to bring to the fore and open up discussion around. This industry runs on relationships, but many of those are formed out of hours, when in my career I’ve had to be at home, either caring or working.

In my own career, I’ve faced all of the barriers above, minus parents pushing me into a more stable career. Mine are both firm believers that you’re working for years to come, so you’d better enjoy it. Being a young carer from a working and benefits-class family has its own difficulties, and the structure of theatre, while welcoming on the surface, tends to operate on a system that forgets the financial barriers people face. Tickets cost money, they cost time, they cost travel, and yet going to see a show and connecting with the creatives afterwards is one of the best ways to network and grow the pool of people who might vouch for or hire you. That upfront cost is hard for those balancing careful overheads, meaning those with bigger financial backing simply get more chances to meet and build relationships with other creatives. Often, if you don’t have that backing, you’re also working a full-time job outside the arts to pay the bills, which limits the time you have to create in the way that those with more financial security do not.

Kaleidoscope is trying to do things differently in a few ways, the first of which is simple: acknowledging the problem, while also appreciating the difficult ecosystem of funding underpinning the theatre landscape. Plenty of theatres are aware they could do more, but simply don’t have the funding or infrastructure to support it. We want creatives to be able to come together and be upfront about what they need.

Red Bus: What would you want an audience member to do differently, think differently, or notice differently, after watching the play and thinking about the foodbank collection?

Georgia Grace Gavin: More than anything, I hope audiences leave with a greater sense of empathy and a deeper understanding that food poverty doesn’t have a single face. There isn’t a stereotypical person who experiences financial hardship. It can affect anyone, at any stage of life, often through circumstances completely outside of their control. I hope people leave recognising that we’re all far closer to difficult times than we sometimes realise, and that asking for support should never be something anyone feels ashamed of.

I also hope anyone who may be struggling themselves leaves knowing that there is support available. Reaching out isn’t a sign of failure. We all experience periods in our lives where we need help, and organisations like foodbanks exist because communities are stronger when we support one another. If the play helps even one person feel less alone or more willing to ask for help, then that would mean a great deal.

Beyond that, I hope audiences begin to think differently about our relationship with food itself. One of the details I admire most in Gareth Farr’s writing, without giving too much away, is how intentional the use of food is throughout the play. Nothing is wasted. Every item has value, and every meal carries meaning. It’s a subtle but powerful reminder of how differently we view food depending on our circumstances. For many of us, wasting food can become an unconscious habit, but for others, every crumb matters. I hope audiences leave reflecting on what they consume, what they throw away, and how easily we can lose sight of the privilege of having choice.

I’d also love people to reflect on how differently we all respond to hardship. Our upbringing, our past experiences, our relationships and our support networks all shape the way we cope when life becomes difficult. There isn’t a single “right” way to navigate those moments, and that’s something the play explores with great honesty. Two people can experience the same situation and respond in completely different ways, and neither response is necessarily wrong.

Ultimately, I don’t want audiences to leave feeling hopeless. Despite the challenges the characters face, Biscuits for Breakfast is a play rooted in hope, connection and resilience. If people leave having laughed, been moved, questioned some of their assumptions, thought differently about food poverty, food waste and the people around them, and perhaps felt inspired to support their local foodbank or simply check in on someone they care about, then I think we’ve achieved exactly what we set out to do. Sometimes meaningful change doesn’t begin with grand gestures. It begins with understanding one another a little more deeply and recognising that human connection is often the thing that carries us through the hardest times.