Waiting for inspiration...

A group of characters who may be familiar to you wait to be summoned back into action...

   ‘She’s hardly written a word since the election, you know!’  Hilary Carrington took a generous sip of her merlot, reluctantly allowing a frown to furrow her brow.  ‘Naturally, we’re all deeply disappointed with the result, but she can’t leave us in 2013, still full of hope and determination, just because 2015 turns out so badly in reality.’

    ‘At least she’s left us all in a pub while she decides what to do next,’ Terry Walker said to his caseworker.  ‘You can’t say fairer than that.  Cheers darling!’

   Hilary's scowl deepened. 

'Just as long as it's not the pub in Life on Mars and we're only in here because we've already been killed off!'  Toby Novak was generally the joker of the team, but there was a hint of genuine anxiety behind his comment.
   ‘It’s not to be wondered at if she’s lost her way forward for now,’ Daphne Randall said.  'She's got a lot to worry about.'  It was always good to catch up with her friend Hilary, even if she had no idea how she came to be with her, her colleagues and a random selection of southerners just then.  She caught sight of Terry’s glass of Carling, shaking her head in pity and disapproval.  ‘Look on the bright side though, man.  If we’re stranded here for a while, at least I can try to re-educate your taste buds.  How you can drink that pitiful excuse for a pint when they have Titanic on tap, I cannot imagine!’

‘I don’t it’s right calling a beer after that poor ship, luvvie,’ Lyn Walker complained.  ‘One of my great uncles was lost aboard her.  Darren’s Paula found out all about it.  He was only a little nipper, too.  They took him on as a bell boy, the poor little mite…’

‘Another victim of grasping capitalism and the selfishness of the ruling classes,’ Martin Connolly remarked sourly.  ‘That’s what we’re up against – the rich grab the lifeboats, the rest of us get a bit of wreckage to cling to if we’re lucky.’

‘Applying that analogy, we’re more like the crew of the Carpathia,’ Sally Archer suggested cryptically. 

‘What are you on about?’ Martin asked his former colleague.  Much had changed for them both since they had first met as trainees at the Solent Welfare Rights Project, but not her tendency for weirdness.
   ‘The Carpathia was the ship which rescued the survivors from the Titanic,’ explained Terry.  ‘I saw a documentary about it.’

‘So what’s that got to do with us?’

‘Our author writes because she enjoys telling stories, but she was telling our story to try and stop people voting for parties that supported more benefit cuts,’ Sally explained patiently.  ‘Only it didn’t work and in our future, where she is now, she’s got to put up with another five years of austerity.’

‘But from our author’s point of view, that’s five more years of bloody good story material, isn't it?’   Wayne Reynolds was downing ‘shorts’, as the drinks seemed to be free, even though he wasn't in his wife’s pub.  ‘If I had five years of guaranteed work to look forward to, I’d be laughing!’

   ‘I don't think she wanted to spend five more years writing “welfare rights lit” stories,’ said Hilary.  ‘She was writing our story towards a proper conclusion this time.’

‘Why?’ asked little Amy Walker, on the verge of tears.  'Doesn't she like us any more?'

‘It’s not that, luvvie,’ Lyn said, comforting her granddaughter.  ‘She likes us all very much – so much that she doesn’t really want any more bad or sad things to happen to us.’

‘So we’re supposed to live happily ever after, like Cinderella?’

‘I always hated that fairy story,’ Sally laughed.  ‘Who wants something as dangerous as glass slippers, a coach that turns into a pumpkin and rats at midnight and a stupid prince, when you can have just as much fun dancing in massive safety boots, driving a car that runs on chip fat and loving a poor but brilliant architecture student!'  She smiled at Daniel Appleby.  'But your Nana is right, Amy.  We were supposed to live happily ever after.’

‘So why can’t we?’

‘Because, in the real world, a load of stupid bastards voted for the fucking Tories.’

‘Thank you, Martin; I’m sure Lyn’s granddaughter doesn’t need to hear your bad language.’

‘Sorry H.’

‘But if the author was going to give us a breather, what was she going to write instead?’ asked Toby.  ‘She can’t spend all her spare time gardening.  She lives in the north.  It rains too much up there!’

‘All the better to keep our waterways topped up, pet’ Daphne said.  ‘And I do believe she had some more adventures in mind for me.  After all, that funny little thriller she dashed off last autumn does better bringing in the biscuits than your “welfare rights lit” tales.  It even got her a mention in her local paper.’

‘I aren’t surprised!’ Harry Biddulph laughed, finishing his own pint of White Star.  ‘That’s a bloody clever tactic to get publicity, starting a story with your leading lady seducing a local journalist!  No wonder she got an interview!’

‘There was none of that, man!  She made it quite clear she was happily married and there was no beer or boat trip on offer.  And anyway, who says I seduced you, Harry Biddulph?  As I recall, you were the one who chased me home along the towpath.’

‘But you were the one who dragged me to the pub, woman!  That’s the trouble with the author letting you be narrator – readers only get your side of the story.  If she's stuck for new ideas, I've got one for her -  I reckon she should rewrite Grand Union, from my point of view!’

‘That’s the absolute crappiest idea for a book I ever heard!’ Sally declared.  ‘What’s the point of retelling the same story from someone else's view point, when everyone already knows what happens?  No-one's going to buy the same thing twice!’

‘You'd be surprised, pet.’  Daphne answered.  'After all, people voted the Tories in again and, as our author's remarked before, you'd think they'd be fed up with being screwed by sadistic millionaires by now.'
'Evidently not,' sighed Hilary.

To be continued...