something in front of a lot of green and then stuff is laid into the background by the FX team. In this instance, it is the fabulous Rolls-Royce (which costs £1,000 per day!) and Celia and Cyril doing a vomming scene, which they perform to comic and emotional perfection every time. They really are extraordinary, the pair of them. We’re packing up here at Shepperton because the next bit of the shoot is happening outside again, on a whole new location. It renders the place a bit like old digs at the end of a theatre job – full of boxes and cases (mostly my noses) and all the comforts of life packed away. Bit depressing, really, but we get a week off and then we go outside, which could be uplifting, depending on the weather. You can’t win. As soon as you go inside the studio, it gets hot and lovely outside. As soon as you leave studio, it starts to rain. It’s just what happens. Every. Single. Time. Ask Lindsay.
The Titans have packed up and left too, which is very sad. No more gold and silver Tupperware . . .
The Story 19
Phil gaped at Miss Turvey in complete horror as Miss Topsey appeared from behind her and gave one of her silvery laughs.
‘Oh, Phil, we are sorry, we didn’t mean to frighten you!’ she trilled.
‘I’m getting it! I’m getting the farm for you, I just need a signature, ladies, please understand that I’m getting it and I will get it and then you will get it, please – there’s no need for –’
‘For what, Phil?’ asked Miss Topsey, looking genuinely mystified.
‘For what you said – my kidneys –’
‘Oh that!’ said Miss Topsey, waving her hand as if to dismiss the whole kidney affair altogether.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that, Phil, we’re not going to take your kidneys off you! For heaven’s sake! Who do you think we are?’
Phil sagged against Miss Turvey’s bosom with relief. She lifted him away and propped him against the tree. Then she leaned in and said, ‘We’ve come up with a much better idea, Phil.’
‘Much better!’ agreed Miss Topsey, clapping her hands with delight.
‘Hold this, Phil,’ said Miss Turvey, opening her vast handbag and handing him a flat thing about the size of a chessboard covered with pretend grass. Phil held it, his heart beating double time and his knees shaking uncontrollably. Next, Miss Turvey took out a little figure in a blue suit – it had Phil’s hair and Phil’s shoes and Phil’s tie, all tiny and very accurately drawn.
‘Look!’ said Miss Topsey. ‘It’s you! Do you see, Phil?’
Phil nodded uncertainly. What on earth were they doing?
‘And look! What’s this?’
She opened her bag and took out a toy tractor.
‘It’s a tractor,’ said Phil, staring at the little figure on the grassy board with increasing dread.
‘And now look – what’s happening? You’re going for a nice walk in the country!’
Miss Topsey walked the little figure along the grass and Miss Turvey moved the tractor towards it, making engine noises and smiling encouragingly at Phil.
‘Choof-choof-choof-choof, see? And see what happens!’
g
Miss Turvey rolled the toy tractor over the little figure as both the ladies made terrible cracking noises and its legs and arms and head came off. Phil watched. The ladies looked at him joyfully.
‘We’re going to squash you with farm machinery!’ they chorused.
Not knowing quite how, Phil staggered away down the lane, shouting, ‘Now there’s no need for that, there’s no need!’ as the ladies called out after him: ‘Better hurry, Phil! Before it’s too late!’
‘How will I know when it’s too late?’ shrieked Phil, from the safety of a ditch.
The two hit-women looked at each other and then back at Phil. ‘We’ll send a sign,’ they shouted, waving cheerily.
Chapter Quobbly. I realise that I’ve been rather lax about the whole chapter thing, so here’s one with an exciting new number to it. One might as well be creative, don’t you think?
Anyway, it’s the next
The Titans have packed up and left too, which is very sad. No more gold and silver Tupperware . . .
The Story 19
Phil gaped at Miss Turvey in complete horror as Miss Topsey appeared from behind her and gave one of her silvery laughs.
‘Oh, Phil, we are sorry, we didn’t mean to frighten you!’ she trilled.
‘I’m getting it! I’m getting the farm for you, I just need a signature, ladies, please understand that I’m getting it and I will get it and then you will get it, please – there’s no need for –’
‘For what, Phil?’ asked Miss Topsey, looking genuinely mystified.
‘For what you said – my kidneys –’
‘Oh that!’ said Miss Topsey, waving her hand as if to dismiss the whole kidney affair altogether.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that, Phil, we’re not going to take your kidneys off you! For heaven’s sake! Who do you think we are?’
Phil sagged against Miss Turvey’s bosom with relief. She lifted him away and propped him against the tree. Then she leaned in and said, ‘We’ve come up with a much better idea, Phil.’
‘Much better!’ agreed Miss Topsey, clapping her hands with delight.
‘Hold this, Phil,’ said Miss Turvey, opening her vast handbag and handing him a flat thing about the size of a chessboard covered with pretend grass. Phil held it, his heart beating double time and his knees shaking uncontrollably. Next, Miss Turvey took out a little figure in a blue suit – it had Phil’s hair and Phil’s shoes and Phil’s tie, all tiny and very accurately drawn.
‘Look!’ said Miss Topsey. ‘It’s you! Do you see, Phil?’
Phil nodded uncertainly. What on earth were they doing?
‘And look! What’s this?’
She opened her bag and took out a toy tractor.
‘It’s a tractor,’ said Phil, staring at the little figure on the grassy board with increasing dread.
‘And now look – what’s happening? You’re going for a nice walk in the country!’
Miss Topsey walked the little figure along the grass and Miss Turvey moved the tractor towards it, making engine noises and smiling encouragingly at Phil.
‘Choof-choof-choof-choof, see? And see what happens!’
g
Miss Turvey rolled the toy tractor over the little figure as both the ladies made terrible cracking noises and its legs and arms and head came off. Phil watched. The ladies looked at him joyfully.
‘We’re going to squash you with farm machinery!’ they chorused.
Not knowing quite how, Phil staggered away down the lane, shouting, ‘Now there’s no need for that, there’s no need!’ as the ladies called out after him: ‘Better hurry, Phil! Before it’s too late!’
‘How will I know when it’s too late?’ shrieked Phil, from the safety of a ditch.
The two hit-women looked at each other and then back at Phil. ‘We’ll send a sign,’ they shouted, waving cheerily.
Chapter Quobbly. I realise that I’ve been rather lax about the whole chapter thing, so here’s one with an exciting new number to it. One might as well be creative, don’t you think?
Anyway, it’s the next
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