I am thinking of doing some more of these this summer. Getting a camera and filming on location. Not sure what camera to get yet. And am bemused by Final Cut Express. Anyhoo... here's one I made a while ago. I filmed it but lost the original master so am trying to tidy up a naff vhs copy - and failing largely! 
SAY IT WITH FLOWERS
Marc Peirson
Martin is a middle aged man. He is sitting alone in his front room. The piece begins with Martin in close up as he talks to camera.
SHOUTING
MARTIN
Mabel!
PAUSES
Mabel! She should be home now. Five fifteen. Should have my tea on the table. Five fifteen. I always have my tea at five fifteen. Tuesday's roast pork. Roast potatoes two. Peas a generous spoonful. Carrots buttered, four. Bloody flower arranging is what it is. I said, 'Get a hobby Mabel.' 'Get a hobby?' She said. 'Yes Mabel.' I said. 'Get a hobby.' Well it was something for her to do I thought while the provider went out to hew wood and bring water. But where does it end eh? Where does it end? I'll tell you where it ends. It ends at five seventeen and no tea on the table. Wouldn't do in the Highland Fusiliers. Sharp shrift there I can tell you. Peeling spuds for a month. Jankers. No messing about in the Highland Fusiliers. So what does she do? Flower arranging! I mean how difficult can it be. Item. One vase. Item. One bunch of flowers. Method. Stick flowers in vase, garnish with well chosen leaf. And bob is your uncle. Four years she's been studying it now. Four years! Studying! Are they giving degrees in flower arranging now? Professor flower arranging at Cambridge University.
HE BRINGS A HIP FLASK TO HIS LIPS AND TAKES A SWIG
Dried flowers, preserved flowers, modern, abstract. I've dipped into her Eric Roberts. She doesn't tell me a thing of course. Hasn't spoken to me since.
HE TAKES ANOTHER SWIG.
It wasn't as if I didn't love him as much as her. More. I worshipped him. He was my life.
She blames me. Very sympathetic at work. Mr Jarvis was very white. 'You've taken a bit of a knock with this thing.' He said. I said. 'Knock Mr Jarvis. Knock. You learn about knocks in the Scottish Fusiliers.' He said. 'You were never in the Scottish Fusiliers.' He meant it kindly though. HE said. 'I can see your nerves are shattered.' He was looking at my hands , shaking like one of her bloody leaves in an October wind. I said. 'Well Mr Jarvis the medicine helps.'
HE TAKES ANOTHER SWIG OF WHISKY
He said. 'That's good, Martin, but it has been over six months now.' I said. 'Six months Mr Jarvis, it seems like just last night.' Upshot was he agreed to let me go. Honourable discharge. After all there had been that accident with the welder. But he was very understanding. Welshman. Couldn't sing a note though. If it wasn't for the machinery I'd have put the torch to him earlier.
TAKES ANOTHER SWING AND HOLDS HIS RIGHT HAND OUT/
A lot better now. The court case didn't help. Wallahs in wigs. Never trusted 'em. Girls in French Maids outfits and spankings. Not right is it? Not British. Not the way of the Empire.
Croxley flower club first of all. Then Rickmansworth, Pinner, Harrow. The association of Hertfordshire flower arrangers. The Greater London friends of the fern. The Southern England Mahonia, Japonica and Dahlias club. Regional secretary, National committee member. Exhibitions, demonstrations and city and guilds. Say it with flowers! Well she says plenty. The collected works of Shakespeare ten times over. One hundred and fifty eight copies of Lorna Doone. I blame Barbara Cartland.
TAKES ANOTHER SWIG
Used to be Catherine Cookson. Should have stuck with that.
SWIGS
She should be back soon. Roast pork. Peas a generous spoonful. Roast potatoes. Two. Carrots four. Buttered.
PAUSES
Of course I keep myself busy. Old man Satan finds work for idle digits. No you won't catch Martin Prebble sitting on his backside. No sir. Plenty to do.
HE LOOKS AT HIS WATCH
Twenty past five. You can't eat a pussy willow Christmas novelty can you? It's been four years now and not a word. I talked about it at the club. No sympathy there. One day at a time merchants. Well it's been one day at a time for four bloody years now and still not a word.
TAKES A SWIG
Stopped going now.
Out and about. Bustling. Busy. Festivals. Classes. Meetings with committees. Thirty years I worked. Bought the pig product home. Nothing to do all day. Catherine Cookson! Now look at her. Twenty past five. I mean how much is a man supposed to take?
TAKES ANOTHER SWIG
It was a Friday night. November. Sky black.. Only six thirty but dark as the Devil's doodah. Just running up to the off licence. Bottle of Bulgarian wine for supper. Not expensive but remarkably good value for the money. Bit of a treat. Brisk night. Felt my cheeks glowing, sang a bit. You know how it is. End of the week stuff.
PAUSES
Billy was in the front seat. I don't know why. Bit of company for me I suppose. Normally I'd have had him all buttoned up in the back. I remember singing to him as I drove. Frank Sinatra. He loved Frank Sinatra.
TAKES A LONG SWIG AND PAUSES
Eight years old he was. Be twelve and a half now.
I did it my way. 'And now the end is near...' Bright lights cutting straight across me. Some bloody student in some hippy bloody car. German! Take Rommel now. Sound fellow. Military genius. When Eric Rommel said five fifteen he bloody well meant five fifteen. No point turning up five twenty in your armoured car. Match has kicked off. Whistle blown. On the substitutes bench.
SWIGS
Little bloody beetley thing . Volkswagen. White. Painted with bloody flowers. Big bloody flowers all over the bloody thing.
Bash!
Bloody disaster. Billy goes through the windscreen.
SWIGS
Dead on impact. Didn't feel a thing. One minute Frank Sinatra the next he's up there with Sammy Davis Jr.
Hell of a hoo ha. Yours truly right in it. The hooligans in the beetle killed. Probably on drugs. And who do they try to stick the blame on though? I'll tell you who. Muggins. Me. Martin bloody Prebble that's who. Martin Prebble who wouldn't hurt a fly. Upshot was. Men in blue uniform. Bottles produced. Johnies in wigs and gowns.
SWIGS
Lost my license. Fined. Suspended sentence...
And Billy. Little Billy.
GULPS AND SWIGS
So it's flower arranging now. Hanging bundles and silica gel. Anchorages and points of origin. Buds and bloody blossoms.
Says it all with flowers.
And Billy, Little bloody Billy.
HE SCOWLS AND DRANS THE HIP FLASK. SHOUTING
It's all your bloody fault. Yours. You bastard. You great...
CUT TO MARTIN'S POV . STANDING BY A DOOR THAT LEADS TO A KITCHEN IS A BLACK HAIRED STUFFED DOG. ITS FACE IS SET IN A PERPETUAL GRIN
... black, hairy bastard!
HE THROWS THE FLASK AT THE DOGS HEAD. AS THE DOG WOBBLES WE SEE A WOMAN PROSTRATE ON THE FLOOR. NEXT TO HER HEAD IS A PARTLY BROKEN, HEAVY VASE. A SPRAY OF WITHERED FLOWERS AROUND IT.
CUT BACK TO MARTIN WELLING UP. WE HEAR A WOMAN'S VOICE.
WOMAN v/o
Billy. Tell your dad his tea is ready.
MARTIN
And about blood time.
FADE TO BLACK
