As you know, I am just a facile producer of literary trivia. I have never developed a central unifying theme for all my work.
Even the writers of pot boilers have a helpful format into which they can pour their meretricious emotions and dramas. Other authors produce a single slim volume of such philosophical and aesthetic density of meaning that they never write anything else.
I have decided to create my own central unifying theme by selecting my most successful literary creation and developing its plot and characterization.
I attach the piece which is to become the core of my literary output. You may find the theme somewhat familiar (but that's a strength, don't you think?). I'd be interested in your opinion about its potential – particularly as a TV series.*
Yours,
* LOOK! I don't want objective criticism – I want unthinking approval. After all, I'm only human.
Chapter 14: "A Disgrace to the School"
"Yew've 'ad enuff, yew 'ave," retorted the barmaid tartly.
"Nobody tells Steggs when he's had enough. Not a d----d soul," rasped the lout, swaying dangerously.
Just then, the door of the low ale-house swung open. On the threshold stood Chalmers, hero of the younger crowd, his gold-braided prefect's cap firmly on his head. Clearly, he meant business!
Cooly, he surveyed the scene. Then, moving swiftly to Steggs' side, he said quietly, "You know this place is out of bounds to the school, Steggs. You are a disgrace to St Inebriate's. I shall report you!" He pointed significantly to the school motto on his blazer badge: "Abstemio Deo" (I shall abstain, by God).
"Aw shurrup," declared his debauched schoolfellow contemptuously, then turning to the barmaid, belched "A large brandy for me, mate!"
Chalmers paled with anger. "Do I have to use force to drag you from this filthy den?" he demanded (ignoring the hoarse cry of the landlord of "'Ere, wotch yer langwidge.")
"OK, OK," responded the drunken rotter hastily, "but just a second." And with a crafty grin he turned as though to pay for the drinks. Then, grasping the brandy glass firmly, he flung the contents over the surprised prefect.
Chalmers immediately applied an expert judo hold and frog-marched Steggs from the place.
It was not a dark night. The moon, after hesitating before daring the illuminate St Inebriate's, had fortified her courage by quaffing a few draughts of ether and was now galloping like mad for the opposite horizon. In this moonlight, the two boys saw approaching them the dignified figure of the Headmaster, Dr Sheckthorpe-Johnson.
When he was almost upon them, crafty Steggs, using all his strength, pushed our hero against his Headmaster, so that both rolled into the adjacent ditch. He then lurched off into the gloom, back to school and safety.
Dr Sheckthorpe-Johnson peered at the person whom he took to be his assailant. He also smelled the brandy.
"Chalmers," he began pettishly, "you are a disgrace to the school . . ."
"Aw shurrup," snarled Chamers, thoroughly disgusted.
