The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

our coming attractions

Extract from my forthcoming play.


Curtain rises on Holmes' rooms at 22B Baker Street. The furnishings, muted lighting and decor give a gentle suggestion of the Victorian period. There is clutter but it is indupitably interesting clutter. A window opens on the street. Holmes and Watson are seated in armchairs. From outside comes the sound of a horse clip clopping over cobbles.

Holmes: Hark Watson. If I'm not mistaken our next case approaches. Outside our door a man is dismounting from his horse. He is a small man, sallow skinned, and silver haired, with an exceptionally long grey beard. Conservatively dressed in the style of about the late 1870's. He has a hump and only one leg. He lost his other leg in the Crimea. He speaks good English but with a marked German accent. His concerns at this moment run chiefly to the whereabouts of a certain missing diplomatic treaty. But ah. He is here. The game is afoot.

(There is a knock on the door. Watson gets up and opens it. A girl enters carrying two cocoanut halves with which she has been making clip clop sounds. She is tall, angular, sensual, with a mane of lustrous dark hair, short leather skirt, sensational legs, etc etc. Particularly etc etc.)

Girl: (In Cockney accent.) Is this Baker Street? I'm lookin for a loaf of bread.

Holmes: (Fascinated) Are you from... Germany?

Girl: No... Luton airport.

Watson: Astonishing Holmes. Wrong on every count.

Holmes: F*** up Watson.


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