F**king Hell! C**tgtasulazioningd to Lazzard for shingling. Your prize is to have won so PM me with a new slut please. Meanwhilst...
Playf**k, Gappy - 2
Lazzard - 1
Next natterjerk: Books (chosen by Larry Barker)
Leg closed: 31.7.21
Runners are nowt...
Position Score Name
1 5 Lazzard, Playfull, Gappy
2 2 Otterfox
3 1 Teddy
Did I shingle?
Not sure I did.
You got a vote, which is three more than me.
Quote: Lazzard @ 22nd July 2021, 11:05 AMDid I shingle?
Not sure I did.
Although it may look to the untrained eye that you didn't get the most votes, Michael-maths is on a higher plane, so best not to argue with him.
Maybe Otterfox voted for you 7 times in a parallel cosmos.
Am I f**king up again?
I c**ted 2 apiss (Gappy, Playfulllllllllllll) and one Lazzard.
Quote: Michael Monkhouse @ 22nd July 2021, 3:34 PMAm I f**king up again?
I c**ted 2 apiss (Gappy, Playfulllllllllllll) and one Lazzard.
Your data collection is strong, but your inference is hard to defend (unless "shingling" means something different than I thought)
Three things I can do.
1. Spel
2. Count
Quote: Michael Monkhouse @ 22nd July 2021, 5:55 PMThree things I can do.
1. Spel
2. Count
Me too...you silly count.
Anyway, here's me actual entry (although admittedly with as high a joke rate as the previous sentence).
ANNOUNCER: And now we return you to Roget's Adventures Of Tintin!
TINTIN: Come on, Snowy! Wintry! Frosty! [FADING IN VOLUME AND EXCITEMENT] Chilly. Arctic. Hyperborean. Brass monkeys. Resembling cocaine.
BERKMAN
TV STUDIO.
MELVIN BOAST and INGMAR BERGMAN.
MELVIN Good evening ladies and gentlemen and you, and welcome to The Show For South Bankers. I'm Melvin Boastt and it's my honour to introduce the most respected film-maker amongst film-making film-makers making films they make: writer, man of theatre and film-making filmmaker making films, Mr Ingmar Bergman.
INGMAR Good evening.
MELVIN You've just completed 'The Silence', the culmination in your 'Silence of God' trilogy...
INGMAR For surely, yes. 'Through A Glass Darkly' portrayed faith affirmed, 'Winter Light' faith questioned, 'The Silence' faith expunged. Whereas artists from Dante through Shakespeare to T S Eliot find salvation in exploring our condition, my vision antithetically reverses said trope, driving one ever more inexorably into Sartre's huit clos.
MELVIN Fascinating... Particular praise has been awarded to the leading actresses...
INGMAR Superficial interpretations insist 'Ester' or ethereal is pure essence or soul, whilst Anna prefigures material, post-capitalistic consumption, yet I urge rather a pre-Buddhist reading, whereby the twin elements create holistic harmony rather than dichotomical despair.
MELVIN Awesome... Yet Jean Béranger criticises the pacing...
INGMAR Better than anything he can f**king do.
PAUSE.
MELVIN Pardon?
INGMAR You heard mate. He can f**k off. F**king froggie.
MELVIN I think there's a language problem...
INGMAR No there ain't. F**k me, am I f**ked off with these Nancy poncey f**kers ripping the shit outa me. I'm Ingmar Bergman, right - Ingmar f**king Bergman, not Ken f**king Dodd - I got awards coming outa my arse: I got an Oscar for 'The Virgin Spring', an Academy award for 'The seventh Seal', f**king shitloads for 'Wild Strawberries'. What's he won?
MELVIN Well, I...
INGMAR Come on mate, what's Jean Deranged won?
MELVIN Nothing. He's a critic.
INGMAR Okey dokey. So you leave the existentialist, philosophising seventh art to me, I'll leave the being a French f**ker to him.
MELVIN Ingmar, on the BBC certain terms are frowned upon.
INGMAR (sighs) All right. But watch it.
MELVIN You're following the trilogy with a comedy 'About All These Women', just as the 1956 to 1959 breakthrough tricolon preceded the relatively lightweight 'Devil's Eye...'
INGMAR What did you say?
MELVIN I said you're following...
INGMAR No, after that.
MELVIN The relatively lightweight...
INGMAR F**k off! I told you, this is Ingmar f**king Bergman, ain't nothing lightweight about 'The Devil's Eye'! F**king awesome flick. It's where I investigate the same philosophical themes as the trilogy - the absence of a Christian godhead, the inability to communicate, the impossibility of altruistic love - but in a humorous style, which is paradoxically challenging, counteractive and well hard. 'Sa f**king fab film.
MELVIN Yes... You're also known for combining professional with personal, even intimate relationships with your actresses...
INGMAR Yeah, I f**ked them. Well fit.
MELVIN Liv Ullmann...
INGMAR F**ked 'er.
MELVIN Andersson, Bibi...
INGMAR Phwoar! 'Ands-are-on booby, more like...
MELVIN Harriet Andersson...
INGMAR She was so fit! Talk about a long shot! There was once, right, after the rushes...
MELVIN Shut the f**k up.
INGMAR I didn't come here for that kind of language. (leaves)
I like that I have been getting points without being here. I said I'd come back though and see if I can get any the old-fashioned way....
INTERVIEW STUDIO. (ARTSY SHOW)
INTERVIEWER:
...And where did the idea for the book start?
OLIVER:
I'm afraid you've rather caught me on the hop. Bear with me a moment while I put on my glasses.
INTERVIEWER:
Ah, you like to see who you're talking to.
OLIVER:
No, I can't see a bloody thing in them. These are in fact reading glasses which helps me to read the situation.
INTERVIEWER:
Okay, so the idea for the book...
OLIVER:
It all came together one cold and frosty night as I was sitting under the fire. It was-
INTERVIEWER:
Sorry, "under the fire"? I'm sure you mean in front of the fire?
OLIVER:
Yes, I don't mean that at all. I mean under the fire.
NTERVIEWER:
And why did you 'sit', as you call it under the fire?
OLIVER:
Well it was warm. We're talking the early years of one of the decades and it was freezing, frigid weather. I'd burrowed a kind of foxhole underneath the grate and it was that that got me thinking-
INTERVIEWER:
And when did the Cornelius epiphany come to you?
OLIVER:
I'm coming to that in my own roundabout way. It was that that got me thinking about all the Corneliai that I'd come into contact with. Two immediately stood out. As my hair began to singe I came to the conclusion that all Corneliai were hotheads.
INTERVIEWER:
Short tempered.
OLIVER:
No, roasting heads. I was in the scouts with a chap called Cornelius Balfour. We were about to set up camp when all the fire lighting equipment fell into a river but we still managed to set a blazing fire by using his head as a match. A few years lat-
INTERVIEWER:
But how did you-
OLIVER:
Let me continue my outlandish story. A few years later one of the wars broke out. I was drafted and found myself in the same company as a Cornelius Carmody. Corny was a lovely chap. He came in one day with his head shaved. The whole thing completely shorn. His eyebrows, eyelashes, even his ears; as was the fashion at the time.
With his bald head shining in the moonlight we noticed a fairly detailed map stretching from one ear to the other. We decided to follow it and found that it lead us deep behind enemy lines just south of the Eagles Nest. Essentially we could use his headquarters (points at head) to find their headquarters. On the darkest of nights his head was used as a torch and when we were in grave danger we could fire him into the sky and use him as a flare. He was a true hero and you felt safe just knowing he was there.
Back at our barracks a couple of days later he comes running up to me with his head in flames. He was in a blind panic. I must have asked him sixty seven times what was wrong with him but he wouldn't talk in the traditional fashion. It was all roaring with him. About ten minutes later he dropped in a heap right in front of me.
INTERVIEWER:
Did you ever find out?
OLIVER:
Find out what?
INTERVIEWER:
What was wrong with him?
OLIVER:
If I were to guess I'd say mumps. There's not a day that goes by when I think about them that I don't think about them. I crawl under my fire and I shed two single tears. One for each Cornelius and wait for the searing heat of the fire to burn them off my face. I feel it's what they would have wanted.
INTERVIEWER (TO CAMERA):
The book 'Cornelius and I-
OLIVER:
'-and Cornelius and I'
INTERVIEWER:
Yes I was just saying that. The book 'Cornelius and I-
OLIVER:
You're not saying the second bit. It's Cornelius and I-
INTERVIEWER:
-And Cornelius and I.
BEAT.
OLIVER:
You're still only saying it once. I even gave you a chance that time to see if you would say it right.
INTERVIEWER:
I have the book in front of me, I know what it's called.
OLIVER:
Well you obviously can't read.
INTERVIEWER TRIES NOT TO REACT TO THE INSULT.
INTERVIEWER: (INSULTED)
Join us next week when I'll be speaking to-
OLIVER:
It's 'Cornelius and I AND Cornelius and I.'
INTERVIEWER: (LOUDER)
When I'll be speaking to Barry Siskin-
OLIVER:
That's the name of my book. The one he couldn't say.
INTERVIEWER:
Barry Siskin, tells us about his book documenting his survival in the jungles of Peru whilst suffering from eye bunions.
OLIVER:
Available in all good bookshops...MINE...Cornelius and I and-
INTERVIEW:
-Cornelius and I.
BEAT.
OLIVER: (ANNOYED)
And Cornelius and I!
END.
A man walks between the shelves of an old, dusty library. He turns a corner and finds himself in an unlit section.
He cautiously walks forward - into the dark - but is bought up short by a creepy laugh.
MAN: Who's there?
Suddenly a face appears - lit by a candle. Old and gnarled, the face speaks.
ANCIENT ONE: Are you lost, young sir? There's not many come to this section of the library.
An even older, more wizened face - a woman's - enters the flickering pool of candle-light.
CRONE: Or maybe sir was sent - sent to find a particular book?
MAN: I was actually after something by Robert Harris - you know, World War Two - stuff like that.
ANCIENT ONE: And yet here you are - wandering the shelves of The Forbidden Library
CRONE: Alone!
MAN: Well, my wife's somewhere - not exactly sure where she's got to.
ANCIENT ONE: Is this the book?
He flourishes a large tome.
ANCIENT ONE: "The King in Yellow". It is said that no-one has read the whole play - as madness & death befalls anyone who even begins Act II.
The old crone begins singing in a cracked tuneless voice.
CRONE: "Song of my soul, my voice is dead, die thou, unsung, as tears unshed, shall dry and die in Lost Carcosa."
MAN: Sounds a bit heavy - it's just holiday reading, really.
ANCIENT ONE: The Book of Azoth, maybe - signed in blood, of course.
The man is starting to get a bit worried
CRONE: Or perhaps you are a seeker after the Dark Archives ? Is anthropodermic bibliopegy more to sir's taste? See here, the bloody crimes of the murderer John Horwood, recorded in a book bound in the hanged man's own skin.
MAN: Look, I can see I've come to the wrong section of the library - I should go.
ANCIENT ONE: What, and tell the world of these benighted shelves? I think not - you abide with us now - a guardian of the secret.
MAN: I'll tell no-one I promise - please, just let me go!
CRONE: Go then, but know that to break a promise made in this sacred place invites a death beyond imagining!
The man runs away.
ANCIENT ONE: Has the stranger gone
CRONE: Indeed - our secret is safe.
ANCIENT ONE: Righto - switch that light back on and pass us the bottle.
We can now see that the 'Librarians' are in fact a down and out couple, their chairs drawn up next to a radiator.
The guy takes a swig of sherry
ANCIENT ONE: No way we're giving up the only working radiator in the library.
Hello! 
Long time, no skit. For which I can only apologise. Also, I can only apologise for the following in equal measure.
INT. TONY'S LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
A painfully middle class living room. Four members of a book group (TONY, MALCOLM, JANET and BECCA) sit around on comfortable furniture. M&S nibbles are plated up on the coffee table, generous glasses of Chilean merlot are being sipped.
TONY
So, welcome everyone. Ditchling Book Group is in session. Let's get down to it, shall we?
He picks up a hefty book and looks around the group.
TONY (Cont'd)
Infinite Jest. The 21st century's foremost book du jour. David Foster Wallace's acclaimed magnum opus. What, um, did we all think?
A pregnant pause.
JANET
Well, I thought--I found the...central theme very, um, interesting.
Everyone nods and mutters a little too earnestly. Another long pause.
MALCOLM
Yes. I think--Erm, I guess I would start by saying that I found it a fascinating example of satirical tragicomedy.
TONY
Satirical tragicomedy?
MALCOLM
Yep. Why, where would you say it sat, genre-wise, Tony?
There is an accusatory tone to his voice. Tony licks his lips nervously.
TONY
Well, I mean, I'm not professing to be an expert. I just provide the wine and the nibbles and the John Lewis memory foam armchairs. But, um, to me, I'd place it more in the...hysterical realism category.
MALCOLM
Oh. You would, would you?
TONY
Um, y--yes. With, I guess I'd say, a, erm, metamodernist slant.
MALCOLM
Hmm. Metamodernist? And...what does that mean? Exactly?
A flop sweat develops on Tony's brow. Bluff called. He grabs a plate of nibbles and tries to change the subject.
TONY
Jerusalem artichoke and quinoa bite, anyone?
Malcolm's eyes narrow. Sensing the tension, Janet gestures to the final member of the group.
JANET
Um, Becca, what did you...think?
Becca looks back at the rest of the group and manages a guilty smile.
BECCA
Ok. I just--I have to be honest with you all. I respect the sanctity of what we have here at the Ditchling Book Group too much to lie.
(deep breath, then)
I didn't read it.
Gasps from around the table. Becca winces and looks around the shocked faces of the group, eager for repentance.
BECCA (Cont'd)
I'm sorry. I got, I dunno, thirty pages in and I just had...no idea what was going on. It was like trying to digest an ADHD toddler's diary. So I just reread Eat, Pray, Love on my Kindle instead. Please, can you...try to forgive me?
A long pause. The others stare back at Becca. Then:
MALCOLM / TONY / JANET
Oh, thank god for that! / Couldn't finish it either! / I'm still stuck on the first chapter!
BECCA
Really?!
JANET
Yes! How did this stupid book get so popular?
MALCOLM
It's an absolute nightmare! Just...impenetrable broken English, nonsensical grammar...
TONY
The narrative jumps he makes are just maddening. I got all my notes for tonight from Wikipedia--
MALCOLM
Ah! I knew I recognised that phrasing! Me too! Satirical tragicomedy, indeed.
They laugh and take sips of wine. The atmosphere becomes more serious.
JANET
Whose recommendation was this? Who actually read this book and decided to inflict 1000 pages of deluded faux intellectual ramblings on other actual human beings?
TONY
Ah. That was my friend Steve. He told me that reading it was the most eye-opening literary experience of his life.
BECCA
But--How? How did he get through it?
MALCOLM
I think...we need to get to the bottom of this.
A chorus of agreement. Tony jumps out of his John Lewis memory phone armchair.
TONY
To the Ditchling Book Group-mobile!
INT. TONY'S HYBRID SUV - MOMENTS LATER
The four members of the book group sit in Tony's hybrid SUV as they race across Ditchling just below the local speed limit.
INT. STEVE'S LIVING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER
The four members of the book group sit in an interrogation-style huddle around STEVE, in the middle of grilling him. He looks terrified.
MALCOLM
Come on, it's not that hard a question!
JANET
Infinite Jest, Steve. What's the main character's name?
TONY
Most eye-opening literary experience of your life, you told me! Surely you can remember one little name.
BECCA
Don't make the Ditchling Book Group angry, Steve. I'd hate for something to happen to your lovely Chesterfield...
She holds a glass of Chilean merlot above Steve's cream lambswool sofa, swirling the deep red liquid around inside.
STEVE
Ok! Ok! Not the--! Look, I didn't finish it, ok?
Gasps of shock from the book group. They all take a step back.
STEVE (Cont'd)
It's just--It's so...long. Page after page of pretentious, unconnected waffle dressed up as some sort of grandiose masterpiece!
TONY
But...why? Why even bother trying to read it?
STEVE
Yvonne. From work. She recommended it. Kept going on about what a unique, seminal work it was. I just--I wanted to see it for myself, wanted to prove that I could appreciate anything she could. All I ever see her reading on her lunch break is Stephanie bloody Meyer, so I didn't think it could be that hard...
Steve's lip quivers. He bursts into tears.
STEVE (Cont'd)
But it was hard! It was so, so hard! I just ended up googling a summary of the plot in case she asked me about it!
The book group exchange knowing glances and nods.
TONY
Yvonne...
INT. VARIOUS HOUSES - MONTAGE
HOUSE 1: The book group surrounds YVONNE, pointing at her and threatening to tip yet more Chilean merlot on her imported oriental rug.
BECCA (V.O)
It didn't take us long to realise that this went higher even than poor, simple Yvonne. She gave up after twenty pages and cribbed her opinions from posts on Goodreads, after her neighbour Patrick had recommended she read it...
HOUSE 2: PATRICK shakes his head in despair as the book group menace his CHIHUAHUA with a platinum letter opener.
BECCA (V.O) (Cont'd)
...And he had just watched a review on YouTube because he couldn't make it past the second time the author decided to stop using paragraphs for a few pages for no discernable reason, after his squash partner Francis had insisted he read it...
HOUSE 3: FRANCIS watches on in agony from behind an antique kitchen table as Malcolm tips bottle after bottle of priceless scotch down the sink.
BECCA (V.O) (Cont'd)
...And so on, and so on. With every new character we encountered, we reached another dead end in our search for the truth, another person who hadn't actually read Infinite Jest...
HOUSE 4: An entire FAMILY watches helplessly as JANET pours paint stripper into their cast iron saute pan.
BECCA (V.O) (Cont'd)
...Did we cross the line? Maybe. More than once. But we couldn't give up on our quest. No matter how deep down the rabbit hole we went. We knew we had to go wherever we needed to go...
INT. AEROPLANE CABIN - DAY
The first class cabin of a transatlantic flight. The book group reclines in their seats, sipping cocktails.
BECCA (V.O) (Cont'd)
...Because we are...the Ditchling Book Group.
INT. PUBLISHER'S OFFICE - DAY
A lavish New York office. A PUBLISHER (American) walks in, scrolling through his schedule on his iPad. He pauses, sensing something is wrong.
He whirls around to see the BOOK GROUP, now dressed all in black like a precision MI6 strike team, reveal themselves.
PUBLISHER
Wh--? Who are you? How did you get in here--?
MALCOLM
We'll ask the questions. Get him!
Janet grabs the Publisher and forces him into the swivel chair in front of his desk, as Becca ties his hands behind his back.
PUBLISHER
What the hell are you--?
TONY
Infinite Jest.
The Publisher shuts up immediately. Beads of sweat form on his forehead.
TONY (Cont'd)
I assume you recognise that name.
BECCA
We understand that you're the one who greenlit the publishing deal...
The Publisher licks his lips. Malcolm casually takes out a rustic cheese knife and brings it to bear on the iPad's pristine glass screen.
PUBLISHER
W--Wait. Yes. Y--Yes, that was me.
MALCOLM
Clever boy.
He lifts the knife away from the screen a few inches, but not entirely. Janet stoops down so she is face to face with the Publisher.
JANET
We've been searching a long time for answers. So, tell us, what really stood out to you.
PUBLISHER
I...um...I don't understand what you're--
BECCA
(snapping)
When you read it! What impressed you about Infinite Jest? Help us to understand! We need to see what you saw!
The Publisher glances at the book group's imposing glares. He quivers.
PUBLISHER
...I didn't--I didn't read it, ok??
Stunned silence. Malcolm drops the rustic cheese knife to the floor.
PUBLISHER (Cont'd)
It's--It was just too...long. Pages and pages of grotesquely incoherent drivel! Incomprehensible turns of phrase, confusing characters, and those stupid, stupid names. I couldn't even tell what it was. Biting satire? Dystopian sci-fi? Moralistic stream of consciousness? Elaborate parody?
MALCOLM
Satirical tragicomedy--?
PUBLISHER
Yeah, we've all read the Wikipedia article!
(then, emotional)
I...couldn't get past page ten. I tried skim reading, but...
He starts to weep. The book group's stances start to soften.
PUBLISHER (Cont'd)
I just didn't want anyone to think I was stupid! So I green-lit the thing! I told David Foster Wallace himself that it was the most awe-inspiring thing I'd ever read! I even tripled the marketing budget to hype the thing up before launch!
Janet stands up and looks around at the other members of the book group. They all look slightly guilty, seeing the broken man in front of them.
TONY
My god...
MALCOLM
I just...I can't believe that's the answer. That's where all of this was leading...
BECCA
After everything we've been through. The things we've done. The blood...red merlot on our hands!
JANET
"Beware, for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you..."
MALCOLM
Friedrich Nietzsche--
JANET
Not now, Malcolm.
TONY
So...what now? Is it over?
They stare at the scene, at their hands, at the tied-up Publisher. Who suddenly starts to cackle ominously, in a slightly unhinged manner.
PUBLISHER
Oh, you poor, poor fools. You think this is over? That this is the end? You think you're the first book group from provincial England to fly over to New York, break into my office and assault me because of Infinite Jest? No. You're part of this now. You're all part of this.
TONY
Wh--What are you saying--?
PUBLISHER
Come on, surely you see? The unnecessarily bloated journey you've been on? The confusing number of characters you've interacted with? The unsatisfactory pay-off of this final scene? Remind you of anything?
Janet gasps in shock. Tony shakes his head defiantly.
BECCA
Oh, god--No, it can't be--?
PUBLISHER
What was it, hmm? When did you fall into the trap? Simple little book group skit, I guess? Quick two or three pager, nothing too complicated--?
Malcolm grabs the rustic cheese knife from the floor and holds it up, his hand shaking.
MALCOLM
D--Don't you dare play around with the fourth wall! Not here! Not now!
PUBLISHER
Yeah, that's how it usually starts. And before you realise, it's become bloated, distended, unwieldy. And it's started to take on the form of that which you hate more than anything else--
BECCA
That's not what's happened! We are not part of--!
PUBLISHER
I assure you, you are. You all are. You're just the latest victims of that book.
Janet starts sobbing. Becca sinks to her knees. Tony balls his fists in impotent rage.
TONY
But--How can we escape? How can we stop this?
PUBLISHER
I'm afraid I don't have the answer to that. As far as I understand, there's only one person that does. The only person that's ever read the whole goddamn thing. You'd have to ask him.
JANET
Who??
PUBLISHER
David Foster Wallace.
The book group consider this, perplexed.
MALCOLM
But...he's dead!
PUBLISHER
Yes. He is. So, I think you all know there's only one way you can all meet him...
The Ditchling Book Group look at each other with horrified realisation. Unsettling music begins to drift into the scene from somewhere. One by one, they nod. They know what they have to do. One or two of them whimper slightly.
Malcolm raises the rustic cheese knife up in front of him...and plunges it into his chest.
Janet unscrews the top off the bottle of paint thinner...and takes a series of long glugs.
Becca brings the platinum letter opener up to her wrist...and slashes across.
Tony smashes a bottle of Chilean merlot on the side of the Publisher's desk...and drags the jagged glass end across his neck.
The four members of the Ditchling Book Group collapse to the floor. All still, unmoving. The still-restrained Publisher relaxes slightly. The unsettling music slowly fades away.
The door opens and a SECRETARY walks in. She sees the scene of carnage in front of her and stops. But she doesn't look shocked.
SECRETARY
Infinite Jest?
The Publisher nods. The secretary sighs.
SECRETARY
I'll call the cleaner...
THE END
1476 AD, A BUSY LONDON STREET, ANKLE DEEP IN SHIT. TWO MEN APPROACH EACH OTHER CONCENTRATING ON PICKING THEIR FEET THROUGH THE SEWAGE.
BROWN: Ah, Caxton
CAXTON: Alderman Brown.
BROWN: I was just on my way to see you.
CAXTON: And I was coming to see you, how fortuitous.
BROWN: Indeed.
CAXTON: How can I be of service?
BROWN: (REACHES INTO HIS JACKET AND PULLS OUT A PIECE OF PAPER) I would like you to produce my latest pamphlet on your print presser.
CAXTON: It's Press'...'printing press' (TAKES PIECE OF PAPER).
BROWN: Are you sure? I thought it was 'Presser'.
CAXTON: No, i am fairly sure I called it a 'press' when I invented it. Let's see what you are taking credit for now. (READS) "Let's all pray the shit away?" By the flat earth society. I see you are claiming your prayers will persuade God to tilt the flat earth to let the shit run off.
BROWN: Indeed.
CAXTON: I fear your prayers will be too late for many.
BROWN: Who do you mean?
CAXTON: The poor who live in the basements?
BROWN: Ah, you mean non voters?
CAXTON: Or non-breathers, as they are now known. Anyway, I was coming to see you to ask you to invest in my new invention (BEAT) 'The book!'. He pulls a leather bound book from his bag.
BROWN: Wow... what is it?
CAXTON: Open it and see.
BROWN: (OPENING BOOOK) It contains many printed sheets, similar to my pamphlet.
CAXTON: Only it contains much, much, more information.
BROWN: Congratulations! You have taken the 'pamphlet' and invented 'pamphlets'.
CAXTON: No, the 'Book' can be so much more than just a collection of pamphlets . It could be a classical history, a theological debate, or even an original story.
BROWN: You are getting my attention Caxton. Let's see what great work you have chosen to introduce such a worthy invention ... (HE OPENS THE BOOK AND READS) "Fly Fishing by J R Hartley".
Tricky one this time. Some real effort applied by at least three entries, could easily vote for any of them.................I go for Crindy's unfilmable, downward helter-skelter, into madness. With a special mention for Michael's pricking of some pompous bubbles,
Blimus, how do you pick a winner out of that lot? all lined up in their Sunday best for a gilded subject. I'm going to have to revert to fractions again, I'm afraid. A quarter of a point each to Crindy, Lazzard, Otterfox and Playfull. Michael would have got at least a fifth if the subject had been films.
Crindy's started to worry me that someone had read and copied an old script of mine, The Book Lovers but it soon diverged enough for me not to call my solicitor. Probably deserved to win my vote outright, but I fancy they've somehow cut and pasted an existing ms from their portfolio. 
Apologies if not. All the others had merits in different qualities, Playfull's was choosing a Brit who gets hardly any press, thank you, next to the much lauded Kraut who invented it several hundred years after the Chinkies had.