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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'.
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'.
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