The Dancers at the East End of Time

[xidrep]

I've been getting worried that Mrs Moorcock might start to feel a bit left out of this forum. I wouldn't want her to start throwing heavy objects at Michael while he's on the internet like my Mrs (Queen Errin'dooorz) does, so, aware of her savonoperophilic tastes, I thought this might help. Please ignore the mucked-up bolds, underlines, etc: I can't sort 'em out now.

Announcer (speaking over incomprehensible shot of people dressed in red performing a Mingrelian Salsa, or something): '...And at ten, Simon Schama gets made up as a woman to discuss the property makeover of Hampton Court Palace whilst Jade out of 'Big Brother' sells off Cardinal Wolsey's antique furniture in 'Cash in Your Celebrity Royal Attic'. But first, it's...Deadenders.

Intro: Irritatingly unforgettable barely-polyphonic Casio 'Eighties theme tune played over aerial view of the Thames Docks - you know, just like you'd see from a Luftwaffe Heinkel He111 circa 1940. A line of text pops up at the bottom of the screen: 'Subtitles Ceefax page 223 for viewers who don't speak extreme theatrical cockney'.

Scene 1: A seedy bedroom above the 'Queen Yishana' Pub. The sound of traffic, road rage insults and the last few sparrows coughing their lungs out on carbon monoxide fumes drifts in through the roller-blinded window. A figure in the bed shrugs off the duvet and extends a delicate, pale arm for the light switch.

'Cat' Cornelius: 'BUUUUUUUUURP! Ooh, me bleedin 'ead!'

She struggles out of bed, accompanied by the sound of empty spirit bottles crashing to the floor. As she approaches the window we see that her 4mm-thick makeup is smeared across her unbelievably miserable boat-race. She shuffles out and locks herself in the toilet.

Cat: (from behind the door) 'Oh...Alvie!!...'

Scene 2: The Bar of the 'Queen Yish'. Unfortunately, the barman, 'Alvie' Alvarez can't hear his girlfriend up the apples and pears. His unbelievably miserable fizzog scowls at the members of 'Hawkwind' tuning up in the corner in preparation for tonight's karaoke.

Alvie: 'I dahn't care whether you're a bleedin Wolf-man or a Man-wolf, just keep it bleedin dahn will yer!'

The grubby bar door swings open. A pale figure swathed in a dark hooded cloak and a Marks & Spencers poncho stomps moodily up to the bar.

Alvie: 'Yer, mate? Wha' can I get yer?'

Stranger: 'I am Elricky of Marileboneh*! I seek the dreaming towers of Myrrrnnwwnnnynnynrn and...'

Alvie: 'Not in 'ere yer don't! You sahnd like you've 'ad more'n'enuff already, mate!'

Elricky: 'I don't understand, I am the renegade king of...'

Alvie: 'Right! Aht! Go on! Get aht! You're doin' me bleedin' 'ead in!'

Elricky: 'Fool! Indeed your 'ead, I mean, head shall bleed! You shall feel the wrath of Stormdrainer!'

He pulls out a grey plastic sword. Mystic runes glow along the blade; 'Made in Korea' and 'Exclusive to Argos'. Elricky waves the bodkin around threateningly. The effect is slightly ruined by the way the sword flops about feebly and the price tag, 'آ£1.49', still stuck to the hilt. Like every other character in the series, the sword emits a low moaning noise.

Alvie: 'Oh, bleedin 'ell! Lat! Laaaaat!!!'

A squat, misshapen figure in a floral dress like a marquee appears from the cellar. Huge gold ear-rings dangle from long green ear lobes and her bulbous nose snorts. Three pupils dart across a central eye. She has an unbelievably miserable dial.

Lat: 'Mibix?'

Alvie: 'Mind the bar, Lat, will yer? We've got a right nutta 'ere!'

Lat: 'Fergit!'

Elricky: 'Anorak! Aid me! Stormdrainer shall suck out the soul of this ailing BBC production and feed me with that remnant of the energy that does not get passed onto Channel 5 reality shows!'

Alvie: 'Gawd!'

Suddenly, the door crashes in. A sylph-like figure with burning red hair, freckles and an unbelievably miserable expression stands silhouetted against the cardboard backdrop.

Bianca Brunner: 'ELRIIIIIICKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!'

Elricky: (sheaths Stormdrainer sheepishly): 'Oops! Must dash!'

Alvie: 'Gaw Blimey, Guv!'

Scene 3: A bloody awful IKEA-furnished basement flat. A young woman with an unbelievably miserable gawp-on cradles a skriking brat. A scary-looking bald bloke in a mitre and red robes cradles a bottle of 'Bell's' and munches on a 'Mars' bar.

'Shaky' Little Mo: 'Oh, my Bay-bee! Ain't ee luverly!'

Bishop Phil Mitchell-Beezley**: 'Yer! But Oo's izzit, gel? Eh? You Taaaart!'

'Shaky' Little Mo: 'Wellll, I dunno. It could be 'Dirty' Lord Shark, or that Koutroboussis bloke dahn the kebab shop. Or Jagged...'

Bishop: 'That slaaaaag! I'll 'ave 'im!'

Mo: 'Nah, Phil! Naaah! Fink of the Bay-beeee!'

Bishop Mitchell-Beezley slams out. His face is unbelievably miserable.

END CREDITS. Annoying music.

* Imagine the acute accent on the 'e' please
**Proud of that one. Publishing connection. Cool, Eh?


[i]Look, it's not my fault, OK? These things just happen. You wanna try sitting here, with only a grande cappuccino, surrounded by nurses. Dogs' anal glands? You don't know the half! It ain't easy you know. I am a man! I am not a number! My name is 'Arry Palmer! 'ARRY PALMER! Mrs Peel? We're needed! Help! Help!

Please send all donations to: The Institute for the Thankfully Unpublished, c/o Gen. H. Guderian, 27a Pol Pot Mansions, Peckham, SE 25. Mark your envelope 'Bomb'.

[Michael Moorcock]

Listen, it's already a two hundred percent improvement on what's running now. My advice is to send it to the BBC. If they're not entirely self-impressed manly-girls who believe they're really Nell Dunn, they're likely to give you the job of script-editor at very least.

[xidrep]

Ta. Sadly, just thinking about it has made me too depressed to do anything much.

[Michael Moorcock]

In my experience the best ideas come out of a bout of deep depression.
And it would do me a lot of good domestically if I could say I knew someone who actually worked on EE...

[Whiskers]

I've been told that I resemble Phil a great deal, from EE, though I was told that about 20 pounds ago. Do you think they could use a stunt double or something? He's a sour character, right? You have to admit that British shows do get a great number of jerky characters. Even Lex Luthor in Smallville is a cool and likeable jerkwad. I could do that. And I'd work for peanuts. I could be Phil's distant American cousin seeking refugee status from the British government, having been employmentally abused for nigh on 5 years with a definite persecution by the new American Taliban regime.

You guys write the script, and I'll study Dick Van Dyke's accent from Mary Poppins. I'll meet you at a London Starbucks in say, 2 weeks? I'm in, right?

Right?

[xidrep]

Cool! Have you got any female friends with unbelievably miserable demeanours who can go:

'Aeeeoooowww!'

Like Eliza Doolittle?

'Hello? I'd like to speak to Greg Dyke, please. Oh? Well, who does the job now? Lord Lucan? He'll do. Thanks'

'Yeah, Hi. I've got an idea for Eastenders that might bump up the ratings. OK. What it is, right, is that Den Watts finds out that Chrissie is actually Svetlana Djugashvili in disguise. He travels to Berchtesgarden in Kennedy's limo and...

...so the Nazi flying saucer from the Hartz mountains crashes into Albert Square, and they would have all gotten away with it if it hadn't been fotr you meddling kids! How's that?'

'Great! When do we start?'

Your right about depression, by the way, Mike. I feel another thread coming on...

[Pietro_Mercurios]

It's hard to decribe the BBC's 'Eastenders', unless you've seen it.

Albert Square, where the the soap is set, is like London's very own 'Hellmouth', except there's no Slayer and no reprieve. Even when you've been dead for decades, like 'Dirty' Den, you can be dragged back into the Square and made to suffer all over again.

Actually, the Cornelius family would fit right in to running the Queen Vic, with guest appearances from their own cast of trans dimensional regulars. Jerry could make short work of the present management, through some judicious application of the needlegun, during a day trip, charabanc ride, to Southend.

Unfortunately, Barbara Windsor has already run the 'Queen Vic' in the past, so she couldn't really be brought back as old mum Cornelius (although you never know...).

No situation, however unlikely, would need to be ruled out for the 'New Adventures of the Family Cornelieus at the Queen Vic'. Trans Dimensional travel? Ha! Doctor Who has already fought the Cybermen all round the Square, for charity.

:lol:

[Michael Moorcock]

I was going to add something but my head started hurting too much.

[xidrep]

It's the pollution and the niff from the caff.

[DeeCrowSeer]

Aeeeoooowww, wouldn't it be luvverly?

I'll meet you at a London Starbucks in say, 2 weeks? I'm in, right?

Of course, you might have to be a little more specific than that... I remember when I went to the States and was delighted to see my first ever Starbucks (having just read about them in No Logo). My native guide assured me that I'd be seeing hundreds of the buggers before my time there was up, so I should probably put a lid on my excitement. She was right of course... they breed like rabbits.

Nuke the planet from orbit, it's the only way to be sure....

[xidrep]

Awl I wont is a rooom sumwhere...

I'd just like to take this opportunity to tell DeeCrowSeer that his piccies are bloody excellent.

D'you think he ought to do a Graphic Novel?

[TheEighthSon]

It's hard to decribe the BBC's 'Eastenders', unless you've seen it.

No it's not... I can describe it in one word...

Shyte!!!

[Pietro_Mercurios]

...

No it's not... I can describe it in one word...

Shyte!!!

I was saving that one for Jim Davidson.

[Whiskers]

so I should probably put a lid on my excitement.

You devil. Such comments are grounds for banishment to the backroom. I smell trouble brewing...

[Valandar]

Err... as an American, I can only understand about ten percent of this thread. I know Eastenders is some sort of soap opera, but still...