Sitcommission Fail - Spartan

Screw it, I'll go first. It's called 'Spartan', it's set in a cheap-and-nasty shop, this episode's called 'Rhubarb', and it didn't get through!

INT. SHOPFLOOR. DAY (MORNING)

(A single spotlight illuminates SHELLEY (20's), who
sits facing the audience, finishing a poem...)

SHELLEY
...He rose before me - angry, hurt. Trousers ripped and
minus shirt. Greener than the broccoli - just reduced
on aisle 3. Bought from Italy in bulk. He scared me
shitless did The Hulk.

(Lights go up to reveal she's a checkout girl
sitting at a shop-till (TABLE AND CHILD'S
TOY-TILL). Manager MARCUS (20's-30's) stands
beside her.)

MARCUS:
I see. And that's called...?

SHELLEY:
'He Scared Me Shitless.'

MARCUS:
Of course. I'm a big fan of your poetry Shelley -
especially the 'Superhero Sonnets,' but it doesn't
answer my question - why's there no rhubarb on the
shelves?

SHELLEY
Ask Gordon - he's in charge of fruit and veg.

MARCUS:
Could you do it? He freaks me out with those massive
dead eyes and the way he pops up out of nowhe...aaaagh!

(Gordon rises up from behind the till and grins,
revealing the full extent of his dorkiness -
including very thick milkbottle-lens specs.)

MARCUS: (cont'd)
Sweet Jesus - those eyes!

SHELLEY:
(To Gordon)
Don't you listen to him Gordy...

(Gordon starts pottering about in the background.)

SHELLEY: (cont'd)
(To Marcus)
...He has to wear glasses like that - he's a genius.

MARCUS:
No, he's an idiot.

SHELLEY:
Between genius and idiot is a very fine line.

MARCUS:
Not it's not - it's massive!

(He spreads his arms wide and wiggles his left-hand)

MARCUS: (cont'd)
Over here's Stephen Hawking and Da Vinci, with
brilliant discoveries and works of art. And over
here...
(Wiggling right-hand)
...is Gordon - dribbling and playing with himself in
the cauliflower section...
(Off Gordon's reaction)
...I've seen you!

SHELLEY:
Gordon - bosman rubar wan no?

MARCUS:
What the hell is that?

SHELLEY:
It's a language devised by Gordon.

MARCUS:
Ah, I've heard of this - it's called 'bollocks'.

SHELLEY:
No, it's called Gordish, and it's a very efficient
method of communicating using as few syllables as
possible.
(To Gordon)
Rubar no mah?

GORDON:
Rubar no no mah.

SHELLEY:
He said the supply's dried up.

MARCUS:
Dried up?? But this is the 'Rhubarb Basket' - the
biggest rhubarb-producing district in Europe! How can
it have just dried up?

SHELLEY:
Gordon?

GORDON:
Aaaaarrrrrr!

SHELLEY:
Somali pirates.

MARCUS:
(INCREDULOUS) In Yorkshire?? (SURPRISINGLY CREDULOUS)
They're getting bloody daring! Course it would happen
now - we're smack bang in the middle of crumble season.
We need to keep this from my mother...

(The Store Tannoy suddenly crackles into life and
MRS RIGLEY (ELDERLY, CANTANKEROUS) speaks...)

MRS RIGLEY:
(Via Tannoy)
I'd like to see you try! Get up here, I want a word,
and the word is 'rhubarb'. (CACKLING)
Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh!

SHELLEY:
Is your mum actually evil? If not that's a hell of an
unfortunate laugh.

MARCUS:
I'd better speak to her.

(Marcus wanders off, as an elderly customer (MR
CADWALLADER) appears carrying two tins. Shelley's
face drops.)

SHELLEY:
(SULLENLY) Mr Cadwallader.

CADWALLADER:
And good morning to you m'young lady shopgirl.

SHELLEY:
I didn't say good morning.

CADWALLADER:
Perhaps not - but I inferred it. I'd like, if I may, to
discuss the price of these two tins of peaches.

SHELLEY:
Tsch - to think I almost took the day off. Look what
I'd have missed.

CADWALLADER:
This tin is Netto's own brand, and this is your own
cheapest. Notice anything?

(She looks at the tins.)

SHELLEY:
You have surprisingly pretty hands.

CADWALLADER:
Tish and Flapdoodle!

SHELLEY:
You've given them names?

CADWALLADER:
(IGNORING THIS) Your Spartan-brand peaches are 1p more
expensive than Netto's. I'm here, among other things,
to ask what you intend doing about it?

(They glare at each other....until eventually
Shelley caves. She hands him a coin.)

SHELLEY:
Your penny.

CADWALLADER:
Ah-ah. Your policy is 'Double the Difference' is it
not?

(She hands him another penny.)

SHELLEY:
Satisfied??

CADWALLADER:
Quite. If life has taught me only one thing - and I
confess it probably has - it's that complaining is
always worthwhile. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to
check the price of your powdered puddings.

(He wanders off.)

SHELLEY:
I am this close to writing a very angry poem about you
Cadwall...

CADWALLADER:
(Off)
Aha!

(Shelley begins scribbling intensely.)

INT. PENTHOUSE. DAY.

(Marcus stands before his seated mother.)

MARCUS:
You can't blame me this time mother. Believe it or not
the rhubarb was raided by Somali pirates.

MRS RIGLEY:
Why wouldn't I believe it?

MARCUS:
Somali pirates in Yorkshire? Pretty unusual, wouldn't
you say?

MRS RIGLEY:
The pirates didn't strike in Yorkshire you soft
ringpiece.

MARCUS:
Then where - the rhubarb's locally-sourced, isn't it?
Mother, tell me it's locally-sourced??

MRS RIGLEY:
Let's say it's local to this planet.

MARCUS:
Whereabouts on this planet?

MRS RIGLEY:
Rwanda.

MARCUS:
The one in Africa?? That's not local! Does rhubarb even
grow in Rwanda?

MRS RIGLEY:
Oh, they spawn tons of it every year.

MARCUS:
Well I had no idea that...wait did you say 'spawn'? I'm
no Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, but I'm pretty certain
that's not the correct term for the production of
fruit.

MRS RIGLEY:
Technically it's not a fruit.

MARCUS:
Then...what?

MRS RIGLEY:
It's a fish.

MARCUS:
Oh Count F**kula!

MRS RIGLEY:
By some fluke it looks and tastes exactly like rhubarb
- but a fraction of the price

MARCUS:
This is criminal!

MRS RIGLEY:
It's not without a small amount of 'unlegality'.

MARCUS:
Selling fish and calling it rhubarb! We'll never make
the Observer Food Monthly now. I mean, if the fish was
local...

MRS RIGLEY:
Listen nobcheese - that Rwandan rhubarb-fish was the
only thing keeping Spartan afloat and now it's gone.
What are you going to do about it?

MARCUS:
I'll tell you what - get more rhubarb. Rhubarb without
gills!

MRS RIGLEY:
From where?

MARCUS:
Bassingthwaite's at the heart of the rhubarb belt.
Within a mile of here there's rhubarb farms, museums
and art galleries, rhubarb churches...

MRS RIGLEY:
...We can't compete with shops selling the local stuff!
If you've any sense you'll find a way to get the
Rwandan back, or think of something else just as
profitable.

MARCUS:
Something else? (THOUGHTFUL) Hmmmm.

MRS RIGLEY:
Did an idea waft across that pickled walnut of a brain?
Or have you just farted?

(Marcus glares huffily, then leaves...)

MRS RIGLEY: (cont'd)
(DISDAINFULLY) He farted.

INT. SHOPFLOOR. DAY

(Shelley sits at the till, as Gordon potters in the
background - apparently building something.
Marcus enters, carefully carrying something in a
hanky.)

MARCUS:
Shelley, what would you say if I told you that in my
hand I held the saviour of this store and all our jobs?

SHELLEY:
I'd say "oooooh!"

MARCUS:
Then get ready to say "ooooh!".

(She examines the contents of the hanky.)

SHELLY:
Urrgh! You keep your snotty-sneezes too, eh? Gordon - a
fellow collector.

(Gordon takes out his filthy hanky and waves it)
about.

GORDON:
Sno Snee?

MARCUS:
Put it away. This isn't a snotty-sneeze. This...is
okra.

SHELLY:
The spindly North African vegetable?

MARCUS:
Yes.

SHELLEY:
Variant of the marrow?

MARCUS:
Yes.

SHELLEY:
Cultivated in tropical, subtropical and warm temperate
regions?

MARCUS:
Yes.

SHELLEY:
Tastes like mucous?

MARCUS:
Y...How'd you know so much about okra? (BEAT) You've
written a poem about it, haven't you?

(She nods, taking out her pad...)

SHELLY:
It's called 'Working my ladies fingers to the bone.'
Like to hear it?

MARCUS:
Absolutely.

(Without warning he rips the pad from her hand and
jumps up and down on it.)

MARCUS: (cont'd)
Yep - one of your best. Listen, this isn't just any
okra. This was grown right here in Bassingthwaite.

SHELLY:
Why??

MARCUS:
Imagine you're preparing an exotic meal. You've got
your coriander, your sesame oil and kaffir lime leaves,
but no okra.

SHELLEY:
Nightmare.

MARCUS:
(MISSING THE SARCASM) I know - what do you do? Where do
you go?

SHELLY:
To A&E because you're clearly concussed. People round
here think okra is a type of killer whale.

MARCUS:
Well that's going to change. Whether you believe it or
not this hideous little nubbin takes me one step closer
to my dream - selling locally-sourced exotic vegetables
and artisan barm-cakes.

(A lady customer walks past. Marcus proudly
displays the okra to her.)

MARCUS: (cont'd)
Okra, madam?

LADY:
Monster!

(She sprays him with mace. He drops to the floor,
writhing in agony.)

SHELLEY:
So, she interested?

MARCUS:
Very funny. Thank God mother didn't see that.

MRS RIGLEY:
(Via Tannoy)
I see everything pillock! Local folk don't want exotic
veg. There's a recession on - people need crumble.

MARCUS:
But think of all the things you can do with okra.

MRS RIGLEY:
(Via Tannoy)
Like what???

MARCUS:
(REACHING)...Tagine?

MRS RIGLEY:
(Via Tannoy)
Tagine?? Curse my treacherous womb for ever bearing
you...dicksplat!

(Marcus struggles to his feet.)

MARCUS:
I'll get onto some rhubarb suppliers.
Marcus goes off, as Cadwallader reappears.

CADWALLADER:
Ah, there you are missy.

SHELLEY:
I work the checkout Mr Cadwallader - where else would I
be?

CADWALLADER:
Perhaps you perform in a drum-and-bass combo on your
lunch break, I wouldn't know. In any case please take a
moment to examine this packet of 'Angel Delight'
purchased from Lidl. Available in raspberry, banana and
butterscotch flavours, all light, delicious and a snip
at 31 new pence...

SHELLEY:
If you stop talking right now I'll have sex with you.

CADWALLADER:
(UNSWAYED)...And now your own offering - 'Angel Scran'
- available in 'plain' and retailing at 33p.

SHELLEY:
Our price-matching policy only applies on like-for-like
purchases.

CADWALLADER:
They're both powdered puddings?

SHELLEY:
Ah but 'Angel Delight' is edible. 'Angel Scran' is sold
as a novelty item only - see the disclaimer...
She points to the packet.

CADWALLADER:
'...Not to be taken internally.'
(He looks closer)
Aha! The image on the front of the packet clearly shows
the product in a bowl with a spoon and beside it the
words 'Serving Suggestion' - a marketing format which
applies exclusively to foodstuffs. Correct?
She sullenly hands him his 4p.

CADWALLADER: (cont'd)
Rest assured I shall be back. On to cooked meats!
Mr Cadwallader goes off.

SHELLEY:
By all that's holy I swear you'll pay for this
Cadwall...

CADWALLADER:
(Off)
Aha!

SHELLEY:
Bollocks.

(Marcus reappears.)

MARCUS:
I've rung every rhubarb farm in the district - no
one'll sell to us.

SHELLEY:
I'm not surprised. We've been undercutting 'em for
months with the rhubarb-fish.

MARCUS:
Now you tell me. Maybe mum's right - maybe I am
useless.

SHELLEY:
Oh, Marcus - that's probably no more than 85% true.
Before Marcus can respond, Gordon appears, holding
a large Sat-phone.

GORDON:
Foca!

MARCUS:
(To Shelley)
What's Einstein saying now?

SHELLEY:
He says you have a call.

MARCUS:
A call? From who?

GORDON:
Aaaaarrrrrr!

MARCUS:
The pirates??

SHELLEY:
You're catching on.

MARCUS:
But how?

SHELLEY:
Gordon?

GORDON:
A.

SHELLEY:
A?

GORDON:
A.

SHELLEY:
(To Marcus)
He fashioned a rudimentary satellite-phone using
paganini stickers and dental floss. Then he piggybacked
onto the Skynet satellite, calculated the
ship's position from it's departure and destination
ports, locked onto the onboard comms-device and placed
a call.

MARCUS:
You got all that from 'A'?

SHELLEY:
It's a very efficient language.

(Marcus takes the phone - delicately, using a
handkerchief.)

MARCUS:
(Off Shelley's glare)
He may be a genius, but he still plays with himself in
the Cauli section. Hello, Mr pirate? (BEAT) Yes. (BEAT)
Yes. (INTRIGUED) I see...

INT. PENTHOUSE. DAY

MARCUS:
...So the pirates agreed to release the shipment for a
nominal £10 fee. I posted them a cheque and the rhubarb
will be with us by late afternoon.

MRS RIGLEY:
Why only 10 pounds?

MARCUS:
Perhaps I overwhelmed them with my bargaining skills.

(She glares at him. He cracks...)

MARCUS: (cont'd)
Ok, the rhubarb started attacking the pirates. We need
to make sure it's all in crumble within 24 hours or it
could turn very nasty. So, what do you think of me now,
eh? I restored the rhubarb supply and saved the shop!
(TRIUMPHANTLY) Take that mother!

MRS RIGLEY:
And all you had to do was abandon your principles, cut
a deal with pirates and undercut local producers to
sell a lethal species of fish as rhubarb to
unsuspecting customers. Perhaps you are your mother's
son after all.

MARCUS:
(DEPRESSED) Y-yeah. Take...that.

INT. SHOPFLOOR. DAY.

(Shelley is being pestered by Cadwallader.)

CADWALLADER:
And so m'little girlipop, we arrive, after our many
thrusts and parries, at endgame. I ask you which is the
lower price - 53p or 55p?

SHELLEY:
Can I phone a friend?

CADWALLADER:
Well may you retreat into your cave of sarcasm,
nevertheless you must eventually emerge and accept that
at a tuppenny cheaper the Aldi tinned ham represents
excellent value for money. And although I confess to
preferring your ham...

SHELLEY:
...Sham.

CADWALLADER:
I beg pardon?

SHELLEY:
It's called Sham - a ham-flavoured meat byproduct.
We're very proud of it, but forbidden by law from
calling it 'ham'.

CADWALLADER:
Why?

SHELLEY:
Because it's not ham.

CADWALLADER:
Is it turkey?

SHELLEY:
A relative of the turkey...well, I say relative - it's
more of an ancestor really.

CADWALLADER:
Good God - what have I been eating?

SHELLEY:
Most of the lizards evolved over time into what we now
call the turkey. But amazingly food manufacturers have
discovered some specimens still living in the Yorkshire
sewer system. Hence - 'Sham.'

CUSTOMER:
I've been eating...sewer-lizard sandwiches???
Cadwallader falls to his knees, gagging.

SHELLEY:
I bet you couldn't tell the difference though, could
you? That's because of the secret blend of herbs,
spices...and chemicals. But you're quite correct -
Aldi's product is 2p cheaper, so here's double the
difference. Thank you and have a nice day.
She places the coins on the counter and turns to
the audience.

(The spotlight comes on her.)

SHELLEY: (cont'd)
(AS A POEM) Your luncheon meat may taste divine...like
those hotdogs in their jars of brine...but if the cost
dips beneath that fatal line...the meat you eat might
not be swine.

(She smiles.)

FADE OUT:

Here's mine. Looking back just too much faffing and not enough funny. That's what you get for last minute rush jobs and trying to be too clever clever with your dialogue. Never mind.

Doyle and Pratt - The murder at Willoughby Hall

ACT I

Scene 1

LIGHTS UP

(Interior, DOYLES study. DOYLE and PRATT are sat at a circular table in the middle of the room. They are playing chess)

DOYLE

Have you grasped it yet, Mr Pratt?

PRATT

I thinks so, so the horses move this way?

DOYLE

Correct!

PRATT

And the rook can fly to here

DOYLE

What? No! The rook cannot fly

PRATT

What sort of bloody rook is it that can't fly?

DOYLE

The rook is a castle, Mr Pratt, it is incapable of flight

PRATT

So it just sits there the whole bloody game doing nothing?

DOYLE

No, the rook can move this way, or this way but can only move if it's path is unobstructed

PRATT

Funny bloody game this, moving castles

DOYLE

Let's just start with the basics, the pawns, these chaps here, can move two places to start with but can only move forwards, they can't go backwards or sideways

PRATT

Not good for much then

Doyle

Not so, the pawn is a key strategic piece, it can be sacrificed for greater tactical gain

PRATT

Poor bugger

DOYLE

And if it reaches the other side of the board it can be promoted to a senior piece

PRATT

Like the King?

DOYLE

Technically, although it would be wiser to promote it to the position of Queen

PRATT

Rather be King meself

DOYLE

But the Queen can move anywhere

PRatt

Not when I'm king she can't!

DOYLE

Shall we play now?

(they play for a few moments)

DOYLE

What are you doing?

PRATT

Moving me Queen

DOYLE

You can't move it like that

PRATT

Don't see why not, makes sense for the Queen to ride on the horse don't it?

DOYLE

It's not allowed

PRATT

Says who? The King?

DOYLE

No, it's in the rules of Chess!

PRATT

So what can I bloody do?

DOYLE

Maybe we should take a break, a drink perhaps?

(DOYLE walks over to a side table and lifts a decanter)

PRATT

Have you got any gin?

DOYLE

I'm afraid not, you shall have to make do with triple malt

PRATT

So, we sitting round playing daft games everyday?

DOYLE

What do you mean?

PRATT

Only we still hasn't had any work

DOYLE

Worry not, Mr Pratt, work will find us, just like it did last time. In a city this crime-ridden we are sure to find our services in demand

PRATT

It's all the same to me, Mr Doyle, so long as I'm getting paid

(there is the sound of knocking at the door)

DOYLE

Could you get that please, Mr Pratt

(PRATT walks to the door, he walks back to the middle of the room holding an envelope and hands it to DOYLE who opens it)

DOYLE

From my contact at Scotland Yard, it seems a Lord Willoughby has been murdered in his home during the night

PRATT

Lord eh? Could be money in this one then

DOYLE

Irrelevant, Mr Pratt, this is our opportunity to establish ourselves, come, let us depart

(DOYLE and PRATT put on their coats and hats and exit)

Lights FADE

ACT II

SCENE I

LIGHTS UP

(Interior sitting room. LADY WILLOUGHBY is sitting at a chair crying.MARY is stood next to her. INSPECTOR BATTEN is stood at the other end of the room holding a notebook and pencil. DOYLE and PRATT enter)

DOYLE

Good afternoon, Inspector

BATTEN

(under breath)

Jesus wept!

DOYLE

So, what are we looking at then?

BATTEN

Well, I've examined the crime scene, spoken to the wife and the witnesses and I think we're definitely looking at a police matter so you and your criminal lackey can take yourselves elsewhere

DOYLE

Come now, Inspector Batten, you have a short memory. Need I remind you who my cousin is?

BATTEN

Some nit that writes comics wasn't it?

DOYLE

Hardly, Inspector. Cousin Arthur created the greatest investigating mind the world has ever scene

BATTEN

On paper, maybe, but this is the real world. I can't be having civilians hanging around sticking their noses into police business

DOYLE

Inspector! You must surely admit that you found my assistance in our last encounter invaluable

BATTEN

More like intolerable

DOYLE

Regardless, I know that your superiors at the yard would appreciate your letting me assist in the investigation

BATTEN

I suppose you can't do any harm now, just stay away from me. You keep your grubby little hands to yourself, Bill!

PRATT

What? Me? Wouldn't dream of such a thing, Inspector.

BATTEN

My eye! You've got half an hour to play detective, Boyle, then I want you out of here

DOYLE

Doyle, Inspector. And thank you. How was he killed?

BATTEN

Blunt object to the head

DOYLE

So you don't have a murder weapon?

BATTEN

Not yet

DOYLE

And who found the body?

BATTEN

The maid, Mary Byrne, she went in to open the curtains and nearly tripped over him

DOYLE

So we can safely determine he was murdered during the night

BATTEN

I had already determined that, without your help

DOYLE

No need to be so discourteous, Inspector. Where is the crime scene?

BATTEN

Crime scene's in the study, through there

(DOYLE and PRATT exit)

Lights FADE

SCENE II

LIGHTS UP

(Interior, Study. DOYLE is crouched examining a rug in the middle of the room. PRATT is examining items on some shelves)

DOYLE

So, a significant amount of blood from the victims head, but no sign of a murder weapon

PRATT

Some nice stuff here, isn't there?

DOYLE

I find it a touch ostentatious but there are undoubtedly some very finely crafted pieces. Now, let us concentrate on the crime scene, William, our window is small

PRATT

Looks pretty big to me

DOYLE

I mean the time frame in which we have to operate

PRATT

Won't do no good anyway, coppers have already had a look

DOYLE

True, but they might still have overlooked something, here, hold the other end of this measure

(DOYLE walks towards the door holding the other end of the measure)

DOYLE

The victim must have known his attacker

PRATT

How do you reckon?

DOYLE

There is no evidence of a struggle, the victim would surely have put up a fight had an intruder entered the room

PRATT

Could have hit him from behind

DOYLE

Not likely, the victim was stood in the middle of the room, the bloodstain indicates he fell this way. So, he's stood here, he's arguing with the murderer, the murderer loses composure and brings the weapon down like this leaving Lord Willoughby no chance to defend himself, he falls back, the murderer flees the scene and takes the weapon with them. Ergo the victim knew his attacker. It is the only logical conclusion

PRATT

What about.....

DOYLE

No, there is no other possible explanation

PRATT

Yeah, but, listen. Bloke breaks in here, going through the desk when Lord wassisname comes down, he hides behind the desk, his Lordship comes in, has a brandy and your man pops out, knocks him on the head then scarpers

DOyle

No that's....it's....erm...

(DOYLE walks to the desk, then to the bloodstain, then walks back and crouches behind the desk then goes back to the bloodstain crouching, standing up at the last moment bringing his arm down in a hammering motion)

PRATT

Whack! See?

DOYLE

So, there are two possible explanations

PRATT

Who do you reckon done it then? My moneys on the wife

DOYLE

It is too early to speculate the identity of the suspect, we should first identify the motive for the murder and the manner in which it was carried out

PRATT

Telling yer, wife, every time. He was probably diddling the maid while her ladyship was getting diddled by the stable hand 'cept he got caught out.

DOYLE

What a vivid imagination you have, William. How do you imagine she committed the murder?

(PRATT walks over and picks up a vase, he stands by the bloodstain)

PRATT

He's stood here, she's stood shouting at him. He tells her he ain't doing nothing with the maid, she loses her temper and whacks him with the pottery

DOYLE

But she would have to walk over to the shelf to get the vase first then go back, too much time for it to be a surprise attack. We can rule out the vase as a murder weapon in this particular scenario

PRATT

Something missing then

DOyle

Yes, something easy to reach

(They look around the area of the bloodstain)

DOYLE

So, we can rule out a confrontation, which leaves us with the assailant hiding behind the desk

PRATT

Like I told you

DOYLE

Aha, but that then rules out your insistence that the wife carried out the attack

PRATT

Maybe, maybe not. She might have been hiding watching him diddle the maid

DOYLE

I hardly think a woman of Lady Willoughbys standing would stand idly by whilst her husband cavorts with the staff. Anyway, why would she be hiding behind the desk in the first place?

PRATT

We could always take a look in the desk, find some of that motif you was talking about.

DOYLE

I think the Inspector would take a dim view of us rifling through the deceased's property

PRATT

You got any better ideas?

DOYLE

Very well, how do we open the drawers?

PRATT

Brought along me master keys, didn't I?

(PRATT removes a roll of tools from his coat pocket and picks the lock to the drawer)

PRATT

There we goes, Mr Doyle

(DOYLE looks through the drawers, he picks out a document)

PRATT

What's that then?

DOYLE

A draft of Lord Willoughbys will, unsigned. It says here he will leave the sum of five thousand pounds to a Mary Byrne and an allowance of two hundred pounds a year to be paid quarterly

PRATT

Told you, got her feet under the table, that girl has

DOYLE

There's more. There is mention of leaving a sum to a Patrick Byrne on his twenty first birthday and a considerable allowance

PRATT

Is that what you'd call a motif, Mr Doyle?

DOYLE

I'd call it a powerful motive for murder, Mr Pratt. Very powerful indeed. Come! We must inform the inspector.

PRATT

I'd better lock this up

DOYLE

Indeed, hurry, William

(DOYLE exits, will in hand. PRATT looks through the drawer and puts valuable items into his pockets before closing the door and exiting)

LIGHTS FADE

SCENE III

Lights up

(INT Sitting room. INSPECTOR BATTEN is interviewing LADY WILLOUGHBY. DOYLE enters abruptly)

DOYLE

Inspector, I've found some interesting evidence

LADY Willoughby

Who is this gentleman, Inspector?

DOYLE

Henry Doyle, my Lady, consulting detective

LADY WILLOUGHBY

That name sounds so familiar

BATTEN

His uncle writes childrens stories

DOYLE

My Cousin, Inspector, writes detective stories for a highly reputable magazine

BATTEN

Well whatever he writes this Shirelock Bones character only exists in his head and it doesn't make you a detective

LADY WILLOUGHBY

Your cousin created Sherlock Holmes?

DOYLE

Indeed, my Lady

LADY Willoughby

And you are a detective? Well then, we shall hopefully have a prompt resolution to my husbands murder

DOYLE

Rather too promptly for you I'm afraid, Lady Willoughby

LADY WILLOUGHBY

What on earth do you mean?

(PRATT enters)

PRATT

She coughed yet?

DOYLE

Forgive my associate Mr Pratt. He has a very abrupt method of interviewing suspects

LADY WILLOUGHBY

Suspect?!

BATTEN

Doyle!

DOYLE

You see, Inspector, this will, which Lord Willoughby drafted, would have left a considerable sum to Mary Byrne and more importantly the illegitimate son she shared with Lord Willoughby.

LADY WILLOUGHBY

What!?

DOYLE

Your feigned ignorance is wasted on me, my lady, it is the only logical conclusion given the evidence

BATTEN

Doyle!

DOYLE

It must have been unbearable to discover that your husband had fathered a child with your maid and then taken steps to secure their futures in the event of his demise

LADY Willoughby

Inspector, I demand you shut this madman up!

BATTEN

Doyle!

DOYLE

You may detain Lady Willoughby now, Inspector

BATTEn

Lady Willoughby did not murder her husband, Doyle!

Doyle

Obviously she did, the evidence is irrefutable

BATTEN

Doyle! Lady Willoughby was in Southampton last night at her sisters home, her alibi has been confirmed, she could not possibly have committed the murder

(DOYLE stares at BATTEN then at LADY WILLOUGHBY he then stares at the will)

DOYLE

Then, who committed this murder?

BATTEN

That is what I, the bloody police inspector, am trying to find out and my job would be a damn sight easier if some clueless busybody wasn't upsetting the victims widow

(MARY enters pushing a trolley with tea and biscuits on it)

MARY

Where would you like it, my lady?

LADY WILLOUGHBY

I'll tell you where I would like it, you whore!

DOYLE

Lady Willoughby, please!

LADY WILLOUGHBY

Quiet, you bloody imbecile!

MARY

What's wrong, my Lady?

PRATT

You've been rumbled, love

DOYLE

She knows about the affair, Mary

MARY

My Lady, I........

LADY WILLOUGHBY

Don't "My Lady" me you little hussy

MARY

How did you find out?

DOYLE

We found the draft of Lord Willoughby's will. He was planning on leaving you a small fortune and an inheritance for Patrick also

Mary

No! I thought he was tired of me, that he wanted to get rid of me

PRATT

So you knocked him on the head?

DOYLE

What?!

MARY

I didn't mean to hurt him, I just wanted him to understand why he couldn't abandon us

BATTEN

Come along now, Mary

LADY Willoughby

You! You killed my George!

MARY

It was an accident! Please!

(BATTEN escorts MARY from the room. LADY WILLOUGHBY sits back down, crying hysterically)

PRATT

Do we leave her a bill or just ask her straight up?

DOYLE

I beg your pardon

PRATT

Payment?

DOYLE

Now is hardly the time, Mr Pratt

PRATT

Just saying, we should get her before the funeral. In case his lordship was knocking off any more of the staff

(BATTEN enters)

LADY WILLOUGHBY

Where is that little trollop?

BATTEN

On her way to Jail, my Lady

DOYLE

Well, Inspector, Lady Willoughby, as our services are no longer required

BATTEN

or requested

DOYLE

We shall bid you farewell

(DOYLE and PRATT exit. BATTEN comforts LADY WILLOUGHBY)

LIGHTS FADE

ACT III

SCENE I

LIGHTS UP

(Interior, DOYLES study. PRATT is sat at a circular table in the middle of the room. DOYLE is pouring drinks from a decanter)

DOYLE

So, another case solved, William. We should celebrate

PRATT

I dunno, bit of a mess in the end wasn't it?

DOYLE

Regardless, the case would not have been solved but for our efforts

PRATT

Suppose

DOYLE

And I must say, you displayed a aptitude for detective work that I would not have expected

PRATT

Oh you know, you sees a few things and you picks them up

DOYLE

So you took something from this case then?

(PRATT puts his hand on his pocket defensively)

PRATT

I never took nothing!

DOYLE

I mean you learned from the experience

PRATT

Oh yeah

DOYLE

And what was that?

PRATT

It's not always the wife

DOYLE

Let's drink to that then

LIGHTS FADE

END

like the gordon character a lot, didnt laugh much tho but I probably have a messed up sense of humour

Thanks alabastercodify. Laughing's key in comedy, so that may explain why it didn't get through ;-)

yeah but humour is subjective too, so other people might have found it really funny. liked reading it tho

I quite enjoyed this. Perhaps, some of the reactions may have been a bit unjustified - but I love comedy with a surreal edge. I like the wierd mixing of streotypes - an immoral mad genius elderly woman running a supermarket. It felt a little like characters from "The Mighty Boosh" or "The Young Ones" running a grocery store. Cool. Would you take a look at mine - "Suburban Bohemia - Episode 1"?

I liked that episode of Spartan. I thought it was quite funny and also the fact that it was somewhat surreal and a bit different. My favourite character was the shopper Cadwallader. I get the impression he is a supporting character as opposed to a main one but his miserly approach to parting with pennies made me chuckle.

Def.

I didn't find the made-up language very funny, but I loved Shelley's poems, and the fact that the spotlight fell on her when she was reciting them. I really liked Cadwallader as well. Although I enjoyed reading it, it was amusing rather than funny. I feel a bit strange commenting on other peoples sitcoms at the moment, as mine didn't get through either.

It's ok Shirl - I put it up for people to comment so any feedback's great.

I think the key thing is with these comps you have to be exactly what producers are looking for or you have to blow the readers away (ideally both) - Spartan clearly didn't do either. Me and co-writer Simon are proud of it though, so we'll probably think about rewrites for sending to other prod-co's

Hi Frantically

There was a lot I liked about this. Shelly and her poems and Cadwallader in particular. I didn't like the relationship between marcus and his mother. The swearing just wasn't needed and it made it unbelievable. I think the second half felt a bit 'that will do' as if you had ran out of comedic energy a bit. Nice effort though. Oh, and I actually liked the made up language so it goes to show there are different tastes out there.

Thanks Will appreciate the comments.

Yes, I'm with you on the swearing. I re-read it sometime after submission and thought 'Did I really need to put all those swears in??'

Answer's 'no' of course - one or two well-placed ones would have been far funnier.