The shop repairing stories

I talk a lot about stories because I believe it’s the thing that most sets us apart from our fellow animals—as far as we know, anyway. Everything we do, say, think, imagine, all of it, is related to our own stories, the stories of others, and/or how they intersect. Even objects in our life relate to our stories, and that’s at the centre of one of my favourite television shows.

I began watching the BBC television series The Repair Shop from its first broadcast in New Zealand. I don’t remember precisely when that was, but shows began airing in the UK in March 2017, and there’s always been quite a delay before they get to New Zealand. For example, the episode that aired tonight was broadcast in the UK on April 2, 2021—around 20 months before New Zealand. At any rate, though, I know that the show began airing in New Zealand before Nigel died.

Each episode centres on expert craftspeople repairing/restoring family heirlooms that are damaged for whatever reason. I was originally drawn into the show because I was fascinated by the work the craftspeople did and the results they achieved. I was particularly interested in the woodworking repairs, and enjoyed watching master craftsman Will Kirk, who, to be fair, I also rather fancied. Mainly, though, I enjoyed seeing some techniques I wasn’t familiar with.

Similarly, I was drawn to the work of the other master craftspeople, and was frequently surprised by how much work went into seemingly small things—except, of course, they were all committed to doing the job right, and not just quickly or to a minimum standard.

This continued for the first couple years or so, and then recently I was struck by something: The items being brought in often had little or no monetary value, but to their owners they often had value that was beyond measure. There were childhood toys that had survived the London Blitz, items that people smuggled out of Europe as they fled the Nazis, the only item a family has from a great great grandfather, and so on. Many of the items and the stories around them are interesting in themselves, but the depth of meaning the items carried for some of their owners caretakers was utterly astounding.

There were episodes in which my cheeks were constantly wet watching the reveal segments, and ordinarily I’d make a joke at my own expense, laughing at how sometimes I get all teary-eyed watching a commercial. While that’s true, it’s also dismissive of the very real feelings, my own and the folks for whom the objects meant so much.

This is what led me to yet another bloody obvious realisation: The objects mattered precisely because of the stories they carried, and the meaning they wore. Watching the master craftspeople work their magic on the items is endlessly fascinating to me, but watching the repair and saving of the stories attached to those items, that matters far more.

The show was overseen by the BBC’s head of daytime and early peak television, New Zealander Carla-Maria Lawson. In an interview with RNZ, for whom she worked as chief reporter before moving to the UK more than two decades ago, she said, "People need that sense of positivity and recognition of people doing something lovely. It features people doing something for little reward.” Exactly. And the resons she thought it would work are the same things that appeal to me—and so many others, too.

I believe that everything we do, say, think, imagine, all of it, is related to our own stories and possibly the stories of others. Any TV show that enhances and protects those stories is likely to be a winner with me, and The Repair Shop certainly is.

The trailer for the show is the video up top, and video excerpts from various episodes are on their YouTube Channel.