Hi everybody, just thought I would post the first couple of pages of a sit-com idea I am working on called ''Pleasuring the Boss'' about a family run sex(Private) shop that moves from a mining community in Yorkshire to a quaint tourist trap in the Lake District (Brambleside) The story starts with the shops humble beginnings in the 50's. I do live in a pretty part of the Lakes, and that got me wondering...What if. This is the first time I have written anything other than a cheque, so thanks for your time...Nick
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PLEASURING THE BOSS.
(NARRATIVE, in the style of a Pathe black n white newsreel)
The year is 1956, rock n roll had just hit our airwaves and fifties Britain began to recover slowly from the economic devastation of WW2. There was a feeling of optimism among even the poorest of families, the work was there, the factories and mines were full - Winnifred Mildon on the other hand, a tough, no nonsense miners wife, wanted more. Here was a bold back street revolutionary, with a dream and vision to tap into a new sexual awakening for both young and old. Elvis had the young girls salivating. Pat Boone had the older ladies frustrated and seeking alternatives to their lack-luster men folk, too knackered to satisfy and too ignorant to care. Knobs and Knockers was indeed a breath of fresh air, a back street sex shop in the heart of a vibrant West Yorkshire mining community – Winny, pregnant with her fourth child, had struck erotic gold.
CUT TO.
(SEX SHOP INT)
Winny is chatting to a middle-aged female customer, dressed in headscarf and jam-jar glasses, about a new product. Elvis Presley is belting out Heartbreak Hotel on the radio behind the counter.
CUSTOMER. So let me get this right Winny, I attach the wotsit to the end of my vacuum cleaner, open all the windows, put the dog out, sit with my feet on the kitchen table, wait for thirty minutes until the hoover bag whistles….Then let it go?
WINNY. Yes….And?….
CUSTOMER. Goose fat…rub the wotsit with Goose fat not dripping.
WINNY. That’s right Nora, we don’t want you getting an infection downstairs now do we. So let me know how you get on, cos I’ve got old Mrs Umbridge the Church organist wanting to hire it during practice – She reckons clever use of a surgical bandage and ten minutes of ‘Come ye thankful people come’ in e-major, should bring her closer to Jesus….so to speak.
CUSTOMER. This shop has truly bin a Godsend to all us Women Winny, I know it’s brightened my dreary life up – I don’t know where you get your courage from, I really don’t. George Would whip me senseless if he knew….What does your Arthur make of it all?
WINNY. He daren’t say a word - it’s all he can do to stay bleedin sober.
CUSTOMER. Anyway I best get on, pigs cheeks av bin ont boil since this morning and I’ve only got two and six left for some nutty slack and a pound of tripe…..YOU should get some rest in your condition.
(Winny stretches with backache, rubbing her heavily pregnant stomach)
WINNY. Ok Nora, see you later love, I could do with a breather to be honest – I hope this un doesn’t give me as much grief later in life as she does at the minute.
(Nora leaves the shop as another customer enters)
CUSTOMER 2. (Whispers) Have you got it
WINNY. Have I got what?
CUSTOMER 2. (Half mimes the words) IT…you know…..The thingybob.
WINNY. Oh of course (Produces a large dildo from under the counter) There we go….one nine inch Hitler’s helmet with tash tickler…that’ll be two and a tanner Mrs Evesham……shall I wrap it.
CUSTOMER 2. No ta, I’ve brought me trolley.
(CUT TO)
EXT. (TERRACED HOUSE KITCHEN WINDOW)
Customer one, Nora, is back home and about to try K&K’s latest gadget. Gossiping neighbors are startled by the droning noise of a Hoover, flapping net curtains and howling cries of climatic ecstasy -The dog cowers behind a bike.
