My newly acquired status as a forlorn, slightly crazed misfit with a bottle fixation, at last endeared me to the bosom of village life, and I became a prime candidate for Sebastian’s care in the community initiative – a vehicle for him to explore the potential creative diversity among the villagers of Luddley-cum-Mogwash. To showcase our talents the first village fete for over three hundred years was organised in the grounds of No.3 Mogwash Mansions, a mock tudor art deco semi to be found at the edge of the village near the skate park.
Prioritising my position, Sebastian gave me a trestle table set back from the rest of the fete – just down wind of the port-a-loo, so that I could display my bottles in an area that, in his own words, ‘would highlight the strong pervasive feel of alienation inherent within my work, encouraging the viewer towards sympathetic generosity’.
From this I could only deduce that he was finally on my side, obviously finding my work as life enhancing and worthy of promotion as I did. I welcomed his support and flashed him a come hither smile; unfortunately, at this very same moment, he must have gotten an insect in his eye as he appeared to recoil in terror in response to my friendly overture.
Evening entertainment was provided by George, a mild mannered post office manager with a large gnome collection, who for this one night made a miraculous transformation into Georgina, a dangerous diva with an unparalleled talent for outdoor operatics. With an ear splitting heartbreaking rendition of Don’t Stop Believin’, he brought the day’s events to a close.
Finally I felt as if I belonged.
I am querying my decision to call my new avatar Ms Quotes. Originally I thought it was a jolly clever misnomer as it seems to encompass all that I am – I write out calligraphy quotations; I make mistakes; I am female – jolly clever indeed. But perhaps, with hindsight, I was too hasty with this choice as it has now come to my attention that I could have been Ms Chief, Ms Chance or even Ms Leading… did I Ms Out?
Anyhow to quell my feelings of misdirection I have decided to write a series of scintillating screenplays about the Ms Misses, which are bound to be box office hits.
The first in the series will be a futuristic racy romp featuring Ms Guided who travels around the world blindfolded, with nothing but a faulty compass, a dowsing rod, and a camel to help her find her way. Everyone she encounters has teleport technology and 3D printing, but she is determined to prove that the world can be circumnavigated the old fashioned way.
The second in the series will be a dark dramatic tale of intrigue and horror, of subtle nuance and deep thinking, starring Ms Cast who is a sunny blonde with a penchant for slap-stick humour, peek-a-boo bras, and Ms Behaviour. Everyone she encounters has read and understood Ulysses.
The third, and possibly the last, will be a Police/Medical drama which will be an ensemble piece featuring Ms Diagnosis, Ms Apprehend, Ms Begotten and the glamorously named Ms Cellanea. I am not sure of the synopsis for this final screenplay but I am certain that it will have some handcuff detailing… a skirmish in a waiting room… some long lingering looks out to sea… some of it will be shot in black and white… some of it will be spoken in French and there will be subtitles… and possibly someone will fall off a bike…probably Ms Haps.
I am sure that all my readers will look forward to reading more about the production of these torrid tales…. or maybe I am sadly Ms Taken… my faith, Ms Placed…. this could all turn out to be Ms Adventure…