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most striking thing about the direction of all three Morris brothers as they started out on their careers was the way they’d had a family background in medicine, had been strong in sciences as students, but then moved decisively into the arts where both Tom and Chris made their own distinctive impact. Tom studied renaissance drama and poetry at Cambridge and then wrote plays and began working out of the theatrical mainstream, becoming artistic director at Battersea Arts Centre in London. By 2009 he was artistic director at the Bristol Old Vic and as respected as Chris for determinedly forging his own path. He has no idea at all why they ended up in similar areas and sees as many differences as shared characteristics.
    ‘My route through alternative theatre is a matter of taste which may connect with his choice of work,’ says Tom, ‘but is far more open to the influence and inspiration of what other people are doing in the field than his extraordinarily self-contained approach and process. I regard us as very different kinds of people within our slightly similar creative fields.’ At Battersea Arts Centre, Tom Morris was ‘a bit further away from the creative anvil, so the work that I did and enabled to happen at Battersea was very much inspired by a sense of boredom with what I perceived to be the Establishment in theatre. There were artists who could be challenged to work in different ways. And if I hadn’t been Chris’s brother, then he would have been one of the artists whom I was trying to challenge in those ways to reinvent the rules of theatre in whatever way was appropriate to what he wanted to say.’
    Back home with a degree in zoology, Morris took a job in Cambridge’s thriving main market. Andy’s Records had started on a single stall, but while they kept the original pitch where Morris worked, they had become a major company that was on the verge of establishing itself as a dominant chain of shops in the east of England. If you wanted to work on the stall, you had to be a graduate and have a broad knowledge of music. It was a rite of passage for musicians on the busy Cambridge scene, Morris himself among them.
    Andy’s working day required an odd mix of the cerebral and brute force. It was a long journey in from Buckden, and the market started at 7 a.m. each day, which felt earlier to the staff on a weekend when they’d been out the night before. They would all pull on steel-toe boots and set about unloading the records as fast as possible. Box after box, thousands of records, from a truck that could hold seven and a half tons. It was non-stop all day. The punters knew their stuff and the staff needed to be able to chat on their level, field their questions, find out their interests and get them into new artists. All the while they knew that even at the end of a good day the extensive supply of vinyl would be largely undiminished and would if anything be looking rather heavier as it waited to be reloaded.
    Staff bonded through a studenty take on the relentless black humour and mockery that characterized market trader life. On bustling shopping days, the area was a favoured hunting ground for TV and radio crews soliciting public opinion. Whenever they were in earshot, the staff would all shout something rude for the microphones. ‘Knob!’ was Morris’s favourite.
    It wasn’t long before he found himself the focus of that special trader humour. He had sold the last copy of an album by The Clash and, making a note to reorder it, misread ‘Litho in Canada’ as some kind of live album, when it referred to the place of manufacture. This passed as a hilarious comedy opportunity for his workmates, and Morris became known as ‘Litho’. But he always joined in with the general banter and, if he was quieter and more considered than the other staff, he was as willing to do the physical work as anyone.
    Market life inspired a sketch in the first episode of On the Hour . ‘There’s been mixed reaction to