Part Thirty-Six of the Sensational Shrimpleton Saga: How to Write a Soap Opera.

I think it’s high time we had a recap of the story so far.

At the risk of re-stating the bleedin’ obvious, I’m attempting to write an outline for a script which combines two of the nation’s favourite subjects – football and successful television series – which ticks all the boxes that a subject of this type needs to do.

I can almost hear you ask: “Tick all the boxes? So what are they?“

So please forgive me whilst I get out my

INTERNET GUIDE TO WRITING THE PERFECT SOAP: THE FIVE CARDINAL RULES.

This work of unparalleled genius – which I obviously had read from cover to cover before setting out on this adventure – tells me that any successful Soap Opera must fulfil certain pre-ordained and very specific criteria. It then lays these criteria out as Rules which must be followed in all circumstances.

In a nutshell, these criteria are:

RULE ONE. THE SERIES MUST BE SET IN A SITUATION – BEAR IN MIND THE EXPRESSION `SITUATION COMEDY’ – WHICH THE AVERAGE VIEWER CAN RELATE TO.

IT IS NO GOOD SETTING YOUR DRAMA ON ANOTHER PLANET, FOR INSTANCE, OR IN A PLACE SO FAR FROM REALITY THAT IT LEAVES THE AUDIENCE AS COLD AS THEY WOULD BE ON, SAY, JUPITER ITSELF.

THE ABSOLUTE KEY TO A SUCCESSFUL SOAP OPERA SCRIPT IS ONE THAT TAKES AN EVERYDAY SITUATION AND MAKES IT

EX-TRAORDINARY.

Well, I fear that some people would regard Cumberside Island as about as far from reality as you can get. So – to cover that possible criticism, I have striven to make sure that other bits of it take place in the safest imaginable location for any sort of British drama to be set in: London and the jolly old Home Counties. That’s why I thought Wolford and the Bristol Rovers’ Return was an absolutely cast-iron bet. Totally predictable and incredibly boring admittedly but also very, very safe

Sorry – what did you say? It’s all on Cumberside Island?

Have you not been paying attention?

Where does Lady Lynne Shrimpleton come from?

Is the Punjab a turning off Junction 8 of the M25 near Reigate?

I rest my case: I want this project to succeed, after all.

So I think that’s Box 1 ticked personally.

What’s next?

RULE TWO. EVERYBODY WHO APPEARS IN THE SOAP OPERA MUST BE A PERSON THAT THE AVERAGE PUNTER ON THE BRITISH STREET CAN RELATE TO. AGAIN, ALIENS FROM OUTER SPACE; SEA MONSTERS OR LIB DEMS MUST BE AVOIDED LIKE THE PLAGUE.

I can’t be sure that everyone has characters like James Churchill Proudfoot in their lives or has met people of the sort that the unfortunate Whit Jason represents. But I’ve met individuals – in the rock music industry in particular – who could give either of these imaginary people a good run for their money. Equally, although most women may not have experienced the rugged charms of the Soldier Jays of this world, I’m sure that most straight women in particular wouldn’t mind giving such a thing a go – at least once in their lives. Similarly, I can’t think of a straight man who wouldn’t like women of the ilk of Lynne Shrimpleton or the lovely Simran to fall into their laps at least one time in their existence.

So I think that’s Box 2 ticked as well.

RULE THREE a.k.a. THE CARDINAL RULE.

RE-READ RULE TWO. DO NOT INCLUDE CARDINALS IN YOUR SCRIPT IN ANY CIRCUMSTANCES FOR THE REASONS STATED THERE.

Tick!

(I deliberately demoted the Reverend Patrick Rakehell earlier on and chose a Metropolitan instead as a major character precisely for this reason.)

RULE FOUR. VIOLENCE. LET’S FACE IT – VIOLENCE SELLS. IT SELLS NEWSPAPERS. IT SELLS NOVELS. AND IT SELLS SOAP OPERAS TOO. EMBRACE IT – THE VIEWERS LOVE IT AND PREFER FEW THINGS MORE.

Again, I am confident that I can tick that box as well. If you doubt it, just re-read the last chapter.

I bet Eastenders scriptwriters are dissecting and plagiarising it at this very moment.

Then we’ve got the car crash which put an end to the original central character and his girlfriend. Not to mention the scary Vladimir and his love of Tampax – ­forgive me – Semtex.

So that’s Violence well and truly sorted and ticked as well.

What does that leave us with?

Oh:

RULE FIVE. HAVING ESTABLISHED THE FACT IN RULE FOUR THAT VIEWERS LIKE FEW THINGS MORE THAN VIOLENCE, IF YOU’RE STUCK FOR A STORYLINE, USE THE ONE THING THAT EVERYONE LIKES EVEN MORE:

SEX!!!!

I can’t honestly claim to have ticked that particular box – yet.

I’m sure I could write a really good sex scene but reading other people’s attempts at them always makes me cringe. Nothing ever goes wrong in theirs. Nobody farts. Or has cramp. Or – perhaps worst of all – falls asleep as you’re doing your level best to stimulate them.

The people involved never have bad breath. Or stink. Or fall out of bed and end up in the local A&E after attempting an interesting new position. Or something pretty extreme like strangulation. Or just because they have become comatose from sheer boredom.

For me, using sex to sell anything is a cop-out: it is the first – not the last – resort of a really poor writer. But I still need to tick that box if I want to get this masterpiece published.

So here we go…

Where were we in the actual story?

Our heroes – male pin-up and all-round Hunk Soldier Jay and the almost sinfully attractive Trang Linh (Elegant Spirit) a.k.a. Lady Lynne Shrimpleton found themselves in an ordinary, everyday situation. (Box One ticked again.)

They were being piloted towards Her Ladyship’s priceless yacht by two international footballers (who just happen to also be members of the Vietnamese People’s Liberation Army) in a dingy.

(Is that Box Two ticked too? Hold on a sec…)

Whatever, they had just left the rocky outcrop known as Cumberside Island in its location between the stormy Irish Sea and the quieter waters of Morecambe Bay after being threatened with death (and in Lynne’s case, a fate considerably worse than death) by local random lunatics, one of whom – quite coincidentally – was a minor member of the British aristocracy.

Ordinary enough for you so far?

It was January and snowing so heavily that the Vietnamese crew only actually spotted Lady Lynne’s very natty boat when they were almost on top of it. By which time, Jay was already on top of…

Well – you can take that bit out for a start. What? I don’t care if you are the editor – I don’t want random bits of rubbish inserted into my perfect prose: particularly dross like that! For goodness sake, I do have some standards you know…

Let’s get back to the story…

The storm that had wracked the waters of the Irish Sea just a few hours earlier had thankfully blown itself out. The sea was like a millpond.

Once they moored-up alongside Lady Lynnes’s yacht, the Chief Operating Officer of the Island’s world-famous football club – Shrimpleton Town – was helped aboard by his companions and hustled into the warm cabin which awaited.

Poor old James Churchiill Proudfoot had experienced a very upsetting day and was frankly still a bit traumatised. He was also absolutely frozen. They all were.

So a bottle of Rượu (`Roo-O’, a Vietnamese spirit distilled from rice – remember?) was produced to warm the cockles of their hearts and a toast was proposed, All together now:

“Mot, hai, ba, zô!”

Then they had a top-up.

Followed by another.

Then they made inroads into another bottle. After which, Lady Lynne handed Jim Proudfoot what was left in it.

Next, the crewman known as `Four’ started cooking one of his sumptuous creations and the other known as `Nine’ deflated the dingy and carefully stowed it away,

Lynne and Soldier Jay had a chance to catch-up.

They held each other’s hands.

They kissed once or twice, tenderly; lingeringly…

And stared meaningfully into each other’s eyes.

There had always been a lot of sexual chemistry between them. And after they had eaten, they retired to Lady Lynne’s cabin and began to replace this theoretical chemical example with a practical one. (There’s that word `theoretical’ – remember Chemistry classes at school? I believe that some among us were expected to explain EMMAS in all experimental circumstances: Equipment; Method; Measurements; Analysis and Safety…)

I’m sure they were safe in each others’ arms but what they measured; how their equipment stood up to this and how they went about it and whether the first four letters of `Analysis’; had anything to do with it is best left to them to explain – and a sentence I couldn’t persuade the Editor who thought of it to leave out, either.

Later, however, Jim Proudfoot – comfortably numb as ever thanks to the extra booze Lady Lynne had been kind enough to give him – fell into bed in the adjoining cabin.

“Blimey!” he though before turning out the light, “It’s got really stormy again! The boat’s rocking like… like… (as always he struggled for an appropriate analogy but finally found one much better than his usual efforts)… like the Rolling Stones!”

But the sea looked absolutely still from his porthole. Maybe he was imagining it…

—

So that’s it – can I now tick the box marked Sex in my guide to writing a Soap Opera as well.?

(You won’t be getting any more in this yarn. (ED: unlike Lynne and Jay…)

Excuse me for a moment…

What’s that? How many words have I come up with? Hold on a mo… Just over one hundred and forty thousand so far. Yes – I know that one hundred and twenty thousand was the target…

Time to wrap it up?… No way my fine, editorial friend:  I’ve still got a lot to say, mate!…

Never mind `famous last words’ – I’ll come up with them! you stick to editing; I’ll stick to the clever bit – OK?

Sorry about that. Where were we? Oh – we were on Lady Lynne Shrimpleton’s yacht:

“Ever read any Shakespeare?” asked Lynne the next morning as she lay in her bed snuggled-up to Soldier Jay. “Romeo & Juliet, for instance? I don’t suppose a girlie romantic yarn like that would appeal to a big macho man like yourself, would it?”

“Hold on – I’m not some sort of cardboard cut-out of mindless Masculinity!” said Jay, almost subconsciously flexing his muscles so that his chest rippled in all the right places – a fact that Her Ladyship did not fail to notice. But he felt genuinely offended.

“I’m not ashamed to be in touch with my feminine side! I’ve read Shakespeare – and Hardy come to think of it.”

“Laurel and Hardy?”

“No – Thomas Hardy!: Grace Melbury and Giles Winterborne; Tess of the…”

“OK: so you’re not totally illiterate. So let’s go back to Romeo & Juliet. What happens in the play, then?”

There was a pause.

“The crux of the drama – right at the end?”

The pause grew longer.

“You don’t know, do you? Romeo dies. Kills himself. Why?”

“Because Juliet is dead and his life is not longer worth living?” was the guess Jay hazarded.

“Almost. Have you ever heard of Catatonia?”

Jay almost suggested they were a rock band but thought better of it: Her Ladyship was obviously serious.

(Contrast this attitude for a moment with that of James Churchill Proudfoot. If Lynne had asked him the same question, the answer would have been very different:

“Catatonia is a region in Spain made famous by George Orwell – whose real name was Tony Blair, which is a fact few people know – by a book which pays homage to it. The Cats, as they are known, fought a war so brutal against an Irishman called Francis O’Flaherty (Frankie to his family; `Frank O’’ to his followers) – that they were reduced to eating mice and birds to survive. But, eventually, they lost. The defeated Cats have had to wear bells around their necks ever since as a sign of subservience – and to warn birds and small rodents that they are coming. Inevitably, they died out – alone and missed by nobody. And that’s why their fabled realm – “Catatonia” – no longer exists.)

Fortunately, Lady Lynne Shrimpleton was not talking to Threefeet of the Yard at that particular juncture.

“The plot twist is that Juliet is not really dead” she continued. “She’s been given a potion to just make her seem to be. But some people don’t need a potion to appear to be dead. Their limbs stiffen – like rigor mortis. Their breathing becomes so shallow and their pulse so weak that it’s easy to assume that they have actually died. It’s an extreme form of Catatonia called Catalepsy. But it’s not necessarily fatal. People have been known to recover from it without any obvious ill effects. Others haven’t been so lucky. They’ve been effectively buried alive because of it: scratch marks on the insides of opened coffin lids showing their desperate attempts to escape when they have recovered consciousness.”

Her Ladyship shuddered.

“Makes me feel claustrophobic just thinking about it! So you’re right – it’s just as well we didn’t dump Baban Singh Chopra over the side as I suggested we should. Because five hours after we laid him out in the rear cabin, he came round again. Scared the life out of the boys and myself as he wandered round the boat, wailing like a Banshee, the white sheet we wrapped around him making him look like some sort of ghoul in the darkness of the cabin. But he was wailing because he was cold and scared – and he needed something to eat and drink.”

“So what did you do with him?”

“Told him he needed urgent medical attention. Which was actually true. Said we’d been sent by wellwishers to save his life. Which wasn’t. Hence the dramatic apparent abduction. He’s in Vietnam in a sanatorium at this very moment. Long story how he got there. Ironically, the treatment he is receiving – lots of exercise and a healthy diet – probably has saved his life. He seems happy enough. As a medical doctor, he finds our view of how to keep human beings healthy utterly fascinating. In return, Vietnamese students find his knowledge of Indian herbal medicine and his version of acupuncture just as enlightening. Baban hated his job with the Khalistan Warriors and there’s a lot of tension between him and Big Brother Chopper.”

“So are you still intending to swap him for Simran?”

Lynne smiled.

“What do you think? Chopper couldn’t care less about his brother. He wouldn’t swap him for a toenail, let alone an asset he sees as a major meal-ticket both now and in the future!”

“So you’ve given up all ideas of kidnapping the girl, then?”

“Kidnapping her? Given what Baban told us about the life that young woman is forced to lead by the Khalistan Warriors, we are actually going to liberate her! Why else do you think we’re here?”

Well – there you go then! Why else would they be there? What would be the point of this entire story if this particular plot twist had not occurred?

Find out its significance next time in the latest episode of the Sensational Shrimpleton Saga…